


Butterfly Kisses

by alienlover13



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Anxiety, Blow Jobs, Bottom Draco, Bromance, Butterflies, Crochet, Crying, Diagon Alley, Did I Mention Angst?, Dirty Talk, Falling In Love, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, HP: EWE, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Post-Hogwarts, Rebuilding Hogwarts, Rimming, Romance, Slash, Smut, Top Harry, all the feels, drunk heart to hearts with the bestie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-30 23:14:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 93,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6446107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alienlover13/pseuds/alienlover13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco learns that he won't be forgiven so quickly after the war. Fortunately, the Savior takes his side, helping Draco to defend himself from the jaded Wizarding World. As payment, Draco teaches Harry to find the beauty in the smallest things: for example, the kaleidoscope of vibrant butterflies they come across one day that embodies the sensation he experiences when he sees Harry.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Formation

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been such a major part of my life for nearly two years now! Thank you if you've been with me from the very beginning, and welcome if you're new. =) Come for the smut; stay for the feels.

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It was over. The war that had claimed so much of Harry’s life, passion, and energy was over. He almost didn’t know how to feel. Before he could do anything, however, there were certain things that needed tended to. Harry left the Great Hall, ignoring everyone who tried to hug him, praise him, or tearfully thank him. Ron and Hermione looked at him questioningly, but he declined them with a slight shake of his head. They understood immediately that this was something he would have to do alone.  Harry dodged Nearly Headless Nick, who, for the first time, wasn’t upset when his wobbly head fell off his shoulders, and finally made it into the Entrance Hall. He’d already repaired his holly and phoenix feather wand but clutched the Elder Wand tightly. It was time to start putting the past behind him.

He walked outside, burying his hands in his robe pockets and making a beeline for Dumbledore’s tomb. It was cold and dark, which was soothing after everything he’d been through. Rather than shrieks and burning, it was calm and quiet. Once Harry reached the cool white marble, he didn’t delay. Whispering a spell to open the top, Harry took the Elder Wand and returned it to Dumbledore’s grasp, who was so still and calm in death he might have been sleeping. Though the implications were peaceful, Harry felt unbearably sad. Now, more than ever, he was alone. His parents and Sirius were already gone, but in the Final Battle, Tonks, Remus, Fred, and countless others had fallen as well. On top of that, Ron and Hermione’s relationship seemed inevitable. They’d been dancing around each other for far too long, but still he worried that he’d become an inconvenience and that the friendship they’d built would never be easy again.

His task completed, Harry retreated from the tomb and sat with his back against one of the tall trees in the clearing. Maybe sitting here long enough would complete the task that Voldemort started almost eighteen years ago. Now that his purpose was complete, what else _was_ there?

“Potter?” ventured a soft voice.

Harry sprang to his feet, drawing his wand instinctively. He must have been far deeper in thought then he’d realized if someone had been able to sneak up on him like that.

“Who’s there?” he croaked, nonverbally lighting his wand and brandishing it wildly.

“Calm down, Potter,” the voice sniped. “You’re going to take my eye out. What kind of wizard are you? Treating a wand that way, _honestly_.”

There was only one person who would still be willing to insult him not even an hour after he’d defeated Lord Voldemort. Harry lifted his wand to confirm his suspicion and, unfortunately, was dead on. His nighttime visitor was Malfoy, as pale and pointed as ever, though even in the wandlight Harry could tell how emaciated his former rival really was.

“What do you want, Malfoy,” he snarled, lowering his wand again in an attempt to project a nonchalant aura.

“What makes you think I want anything at all, dear _Chosen One_?” Malfoy spat out the last two words like they had personally offended him.

“Oh, I don’t know,” hissed Harry, “Maybe because you’ve _followed_ me out to Dumbledore’s grave? I know you’re not out here to mourn; it’s not like you gave a buggering shit about him.”

Malfoy’s face twisted. “Now, now, Potter,” he said slowly, “Try not to think so hard. It’s difficult to make assumptions about things you know _nothing_ about.”

“What are you talking about?” Harry asked disbelievingly. “I know you, Malfoy.”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes and loudly snorted, before concluding, “Like I said, you know nothing, Potter.”

Sufficiently goaded, Harry demanded, “Fine then, Malfoy, why don’t you _enlighten_ me? I know you want something, or you wouldn’t be here. Want to ask me to testify at your trial? Fine. I’ll even throw your mother’s in for good measure. Now leave me alone.”

He seemed to have touched a nerve. Malfoy’s face closed, and he breathed, “ _Potter_ , you ask me to _enlighten_ you and then continue judging why I’m here? Make up your mind, _Savior_ , as they’re calling you now. One or the other.”

Through gritted teeth, Harry relented. “I’ll listen.”

Malfoy seemed satisfied. He walked towards Harry, who stiffened, before gracefully lowering himself down and leaning against the tree next to Harry’s. “Sit, Potter.”

It was bizarre to hear Malfoy extending an invitation, rather than spitting a command, but even more disturbing was that Malfoy had injected no malice or sneer in his words. He almost sounded _friendly_.

Harry returned to his spot against the tree, drawing his knees up tightly against his chest. Malfoy waited for him to respond, but Harry stayed quiet. Now that they were sitting rather companionably, Malfoy seemed almost at a loss for words.

After a few minutes of silence, Malfoy sighed. “Potter, I didn’t _hate_ Dumbledore. Had it not been for his blatant displays of favoritism, I might’ve even liked him.”

Harry rested his hands on his knees and his head on his hands, turning to regard Malfoy skeptically. “Right, then why didn’t you take the out when he offered it? On the night he died.” The _“when you helped to kill him”_ was left unsaid.

“You were there that night?” Malfoy met Harry’s eyes, surprised. “Of course you were. I swear, Potter…” he trailed off. “I didn’t take the _out_ , if you must know, because I thought I was already too far gone. In addition, my father wouldn’t have accepted it. He would have disowned me.”

“What changed?” Harry asked, honestly curious.

“Voldemort and the other Death Eaters spending the past year at the Manor,” Malfoy said. “You – well, maybe only you – would be able to comprehend the horrors, the _things_ they had me do. I don’t quite know how to live with myself now that it’s over.”

He even sounds sincere, thought Harry. Still a little peeved, Harry asked, “Has your father offered any suggestions?” A second later, he regretted it. Even for Malfoy, that seemed a little cruel.

Instead of being hurt, Malfoy’s face shone. “I’m glad my father is alive, but I’ll be making my own decisions from now on. That’s why I’m here, Potter.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “Even if he disowns you? Since you were so concerned before.”

Malfoy laughed, a real laugh, and Harry’s heart quite strangely lifted at the sound. “Potter, it would be a blessing to leave my name behind. I’m sure you can work out why. Anyway, he wouldn’t do that now, not after his path royally screwed us all.”

Nodding sympathetically, Harry took a moment to reflect on the oddness of this situation. Sitting by Dumbledore’s tomb in the aftermath of the Final Battle, having a heart to heart with Draco Malfoy? He would have never imagined it happening in a million years.

“I realized how troubling our Pureblood views really were during the height of Voldemort’s reign over my house. I honestly wanted to do more after you were captured, but couldn’t without them knowing my heart wasn’t in it.”

“You managed to save my life,” Harry pointed out, raising his head back up and shifting so his body was facing Malfoy. “If you’d identified me, things could have gone a hell of a lot differently.”

“Still,” said Malfoy, carding a hand through his perfect blonde hair. “I want to make reparations. And to….” He trailed off again, almost as if the words would not come off of his tongue.

Harry looked at him confusedly, unable to imagine what was coming next.

With a face that suggested he might be sick, Malfoy sniffed, “Thank you, Potter. For saving me – er, us – from _him_.”

Harry simply gawked at him. Of the most unlikely, improbable things that Malfoy was likely to do, thanking him had to be in the top ten.

“It might be a bit selfish, I know,” continued Malfoy, his pointed face back to neutral, “But I didn’t only come out here to apologize. I want us to start over.” He extended his hand in a throwback to the moment when they were eleven and the world was different, and Harry could only stare in stunned silence. After a long moment, Malfoy’s face looked just the slightest bit hurt, and he started to withdraw his hand.

It wasn’t logical, nor did the git deserve it, but in a moment of impulsiveness Harry thrust out his own hand and grabbed Malfoy’s. They shook for a few seconds, and immediately both felt more at ease.

Harry stood up then, and after a second to consider, reached down the same hand to Malfoy, who grasped it, and helped pull him up. Now that the moment was over, it was hard to know exactly what to say to Malfoy.

“Ready to go back to the castle?” he finally asked. Malfoy nodded, and the two set off across the grounds. Harry reflected how fitting it was that he had chosen to give Malfoy a second chance at the foot of Dumbledore’s grave, who had always advocated for the good in everyone.

“Potter,” said Malfoy suddenly. “About your elf – Dobby. I regret what happened.”

Harry closed his eyes. “Me too, Malfoy. They shared a quick glance before walking up to the castle doors, and Malfoy reached out to pull on the handle.

Before his hand made contact, Harry slapped it away. Malfoy looked up in surprise. “I was going to testify for you and your mother anyway,” he blurted out. “Anyway, I’m glad you’ve thought about some things.”

Malfoy met his eyes again, and Harry could see the gratitude and the desire for forgiveness reflected in the grey irises. Malfoy had quite expressive eyes, he noticed, ones he could almost get lost in. He blinked to break the spell.

This time, Harry reached out to open the doors, and they parted ways once safely back inside the castle.

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Draco had worried about the inevitable trial ever since he’d first realized the certainty of Voldemort’s downfall. Fortunately, he knew the Golden Boy would keep his word. Harry Potter was nothing if not noble and honest. With Harry’s testimony, he and his mother were sentenced to community service and a fine and the Malfoy vaults retained most of their fortune. His father wasn’t so lucky. Lucius received a fifteen year sentence in Azkaban, but Draco couldn’t bring himself to feel pity. His actions enabled the Dark Lord to return to full force in the first place, and he’d pressured Draco into taking the Dark Mark. For that, Draco would never forgive him.

The Ministry gave the two free Malfoys a short list of approved places where they could complete their several hours of community service. Narcissa chose the London Gardens while Draco decided to start at Hogwarts. Before the school could be re-opened, major renovations were necessary. After Harry’s testimony, the Minister of Magic himself declared Draco would be cleared to attend Hogwarts to finish his education, also noting he could complete the volunteer hours at his own pace during the academic year. That’s exactly what Draco had been hoping for. Securing any kind of employment was impossible without stellar NEWTs, especially as a former Death Eater.

Bright and early on Monday morning after the trial, Draco prepared for work. Clearly there was a first for everything. Draco tried to be enthusiastic but failed, so there was only one thing left to do: channel his inner Potter. He Transfigured one of his father’s old robes into a set of muggle jeans and a black T-shirt, hoping his efforts went unnoticed. Draco dreaded meeting his former classmates at Hogwarts who would no doubt delight in witnessing the downfall of the Malfoys.

He Disapparated from the Manor, aiming for the school’s outer gates. Unfortunately, several of the other volunteers had the same idea. Draco slammed into a couple Hufflepuffs he used to love to torment, Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbott.

“My apologies,” he said with as much dignity as he could muster up. It was a futile attempt.

“What are _you_ doing here,” sneered Macmillan in a way Draco didn’t know Hufflepuffs could sneer.

“Helping rebuild the school,” Draco stated, trying to replicate his usual confidence by adopting proper Malfoy posture. “What does it look like I’m doing? Wait, don’t answer that. Hufflepuffs aren’t the sharpest tools in the broom shed.”

Macmillan puffed out his chest as a dull flush came over his face.

“Leave it, Ernie,” commanded Abbott. “I plan to speak with Headmistress McGonagall straight away as to why a _Death Eater_ would be allowed to help rebuild Hogwarts.”

Stung, as he always was when someone called him a Death Eater, Draco could only give them his most superior, condescending Malfoy glare as they strode away. It was going to be a long day if every encounter was like this.  

There were no words for the rest of the morning. Even the Gryffindors were cruel, seeing as one of their own had saved the world while most Slytherins did nothing. Potter’s friends Weasley and Granger stared at him, dumbstruck, for a full minute, before the Weasel started running pell-mell towards Draco with a murderous expression on his face. Draco didn’t go for his wand – he couldn’t think – but he was spared from the muggle beating because Granger saw fit to stun her moronic boyfriend. The relief in his face must have been palatable, but Granger quickly dispelled Draco of her good intentions by glaring and hissing “I did it for _him,_ Malfoy, not _you_.” Seamus Finnigan, another boy from Potter’s year, redirected a cascade of falling rubble to rain down on Draco when he was busy trying to herd up a group of baby Mandrakes. It had hurt, and he wasn’t as familiar with common healing spells as he should be. As such he would have to suffer his bruised back and broken toes until he could ask Mother for help.

Draco ate lunch alone – the Hogwarts house elves had prepared a simple but hearty meal for everyone involved with the renovations – and hoped for the rest of the afternoon to go smoothly. He decided to join Lovegood in repairing the structural damage to the Ravenclaw Tower, but halfway through she went away to take a break, declaring that the Wrackspurts were bothering her. Draco didn’t mind working alone. In fact, it was almost relaxing, strengthening what was left of the tower’s foundation, and creating new scaffolding as necessary along the way.

Focusing hard on his task despite the fog since that morning’s incident with Finnigan, Draco was oblivious to four burly Hufflepuffs coming up behind him. Only when one shouted “Levicorpus!” and Draco was brutally yanked in the air and turned upside by his right ankle did he realize they were there. Looking back down to the ground, Draco couldn’t recognize any of them. He thought that they might have been in fifth year. Old enough to remember him lording his prefect badge above their heads, if this was the little Hufflepuff group he was remembering…

“Oi, Malfoy,” the only girl in the group cooed sarcastically. “You think you’re so clever, always putting yourself on a pedestal, we thought you might appreciate it if we stuck you up there permanently!”

“Should we really do it?” asked another, short and stocky. Draco thought about how he’d teased that one, in his own fifth year, from all the way across the Great Hall for eating an extra piece of treacle tart. This was not going to end well.

“Of course we’re doing it, you dimwit,” snapped the one Draco had instantly targeted as the ringleader. “A Permanent Sticking Charm to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom is better than what Malfoy deserves. Of course, we’ll have to give him a taste of his own medicine first.”

There was a strange noise from the largest and strongest of the four, and Draco vaguely recognized it as an adapted version of Voldemort’s laugh. Apparently the fourth was just brute force and sound effects. Draco wasn’t complaining – getting hit with hexes, jinxes, and curses from three casters would be marginally less painful than from four. He was starting to get a little worried from his vulnerable position in the air; his shirt was threatening to fall down over his head if he gave up and his arms were getting harder and harder to hold steadfastly to his sides.

“Immobulus!” shouted the short sidekick, and Draco had to stop struggling as the charm instantly froze him solid. Now he was just hanging there, floating back and forth in the breeze, as the four Hufflepuffs laughed at him; at least it took the pressure off his arms. More students rapidly approached, having heard raised voices and sinister expressions of mirth. Draco could only hope that one of them was merciful.

“Rictusempra!” yelled the female Hufflepuff as the crowd jeered. Though Draco was still frozen, he could feel a thousand tickles happening simultaneously all over his body. It was torturous, not being able to scratch. He wasn’t muted, and noises of helplessness escaped him.

The ringleader walked towards Draco until he stood directly underneath him. He spoke quietly, so no one else could hear, and said, “You thought you were such a big man, with Daddy’s protection and the threat of the ‘Dark Lord’ behind every word you said.” He waved his wand, casting wordlessly, and Draco felt a strange pressure in his lower stomach. “Power always got to your head. When I was just a second year, you gave me a detention and took twenty points from Hufflepuff just because I had my tie done up the wrong way. Now it’s your turn to suffer, arsehole.”

Not knowing what to expect, Draco waited anxiously. All of a sudden came the cry “Crucio!” Pain lanced through him in the way he’d come to expect from his father, the Dark Lord, and other Death Eaters. He screamed, the sharp pain consuming him on top of the relentless tickling. He still could not move, but worst of all, there was hot, wet fluid running from his crotch down his torso.

“Er –” grunted the largest Hufflepuff. “Wilkins, are you sure about this? Malfoy never did anything that bad to us –”

“Shut up, Mikey,” snapped Wilkins. “Have you forgotten what he _is_? What he did during the war?”

Chastised, Mikey stepped back into the crowd and with an evil smile, the ringleader addressed Draco again. “That spell I used the first time? Triggers the target to wet their pants. Good luck living this one down, Malfoy.” He ended the Tickling and Freezing Charms, leaving Malfoy to pant off the effects of the Cruciatus Curse.

Immersed in mob mentality, the mixed crowd of Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors, and Ravenclaws continued to revel in the sight of Draco Malfoy suspended in the air by his right ankle, shirt inside out over his face, and now dripping with urine. It ran down his chest and back in thin, warm lines before falling off of his body to the ground.

“Hey, look!” shouted one Ravenclaw boy with a particularly lowbrow accent. “Malfoy’s pissed himself!”

The jeers, hoots, and snarls coming from surrounding company increased tenfold. Draco could make out assorted responses like “Someone grab a camera!” and “I told you that the Malfoys’ shit still stank!”

Draco caught the ringleader’s voice again as it declared “It is now time to join Malfoy to Moaning Myrtle forever! Please follow into the Great Hall–”

“WILKINS!” boomed a loud and very angry voice. Draco couldn’t make out who it was, but he instantly eliminated Potter. “I’ll have your ass for sure, this time! Wait until McGonagall hears that you’ve been torturing students who have been _cleared_ of all charges!”

His savior uttered a quick “Finite!” and Draco found himself being slowly returned back to the earth. With flushed cheeks and a lingering sense of dizziness he turned to face his rescuer, who had also cast a discrete Cleaning Charm on Draco.

He bit back the automatic snarky response that rose on his tongue, because being forced to thank Neville Longbottom was a thousand times better than being strung up by fifth years.

“Longbottom,” Draco said evenly, meeting his eyes. “Thank you.” Longbottom nodded once, and Draco fought the urge to break into a run. Instead, he strode away with purpose, parting the silenced crowd who only seconds before had been in all their glory at the sight of him humiliated. The last thing he saw, out of the corner of his eye, was Longbottom rounding on the four that had initiated the encounter against him.

Draco didn’t know where he was going; didn’t know where there was _to_ go, but his feet led him back to Dumbledore’s tomb where he had sat with Potter. The area was equally deserted, as everyone was either hard at work on another part of the castle or back with the crowd.

Instead of resting against the tree, Draco found himself striding right up to the actual tomb and pressing his right hand against it.

“Foolish old man,” said Draco. His eyes fell to the ground. “‘My mercy?’ ‘Your mercy?’ Ha!” he scoffed. “None of it matters now.”

He sank to the ground, pulling his knees up to his chest, his head thudding as it hit the side of Dumbledore’s memorial. Sighing, Draco reached up with a long, pale hand to wipe away a stray tear.

He didn’t know how long he sat there as seconds gave way to minutes. When Draco looked up again, the afternoon had turned into dusk and the air was growing steadily cooler. He wrapped his arms around his legs, burying his face in his knees.

“Malfoy?” a voice questioned from the darkness. Draco buried his face tighter and didn’t say a word in response. He just knew it was Potter, who had the worst habit of showing up at the most inopportune moments. Footsteps slowly approached, but Draco refused to look up. Of course Potter knew; Longbottom would have never lasted ten minutes without telling him. After a minute, he felt Potter sink down next to him. Neither of them spoke. The silence lasted so long that Malfoy had almost forgotten Potter was still there, but then he felt something warm and oddly comforting touch his back. Could that be Potter’s arm?

A few minutes later, Potter’s fingers started ghosting over his muscles, and Draco realized that yes, Potter was touching him, _rubbing_ him even. He wanted to make a noise of protest, but he was only able to produce a strange noise of contentment. Draco desperately hoped that Potter hadn’t heard.

Potter started moving his fingers in a circular pattern, with just a bit more pressure. It felt amazing. Malfoy was struggling not to push back into Potter’s hand to demand more rubbing and petting, but then Potter spoke.

“I’m so sorry that happened, Malfoy.”

It was too much. Words of sympathy, which he hadn’t heard from anyone lately, were too much. Especially coming from _Potter_. Draco had no recollection of pre-war conversations where he and Potter were actually nice to one another. The care and warmth cascading through Potter’s fingertips combined with the sweet words was enough to put him over the edge, and Draco began sobbing. As it happened, he was horrified with himself, but had no control all the same.

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Harry was trying to be comforting. Malfoy hadn’t said a word since Harry had sat down next to him, but then again Harry hadn’t really expected him to. Sure, Malfoy had done some shitty things in the War, but he was paying his debts now. Harry had heard rumors that Wilkins had even used the Cruciatus Curse on Malfoy, which could not go unpunished. But Malfoy was what mattered right now, if Harry could just break through his stony exterior.

After a good half an hour of sitting in silence, Harry tried petting Malfoy, who hadn’t protested, shied away, or yelled. Instead, he’d made a soft noise which almost sounded appreciative. Harry had taken it as a good sign, and continued on, hoping for more positive reactions. Malfoy had remained stubbornly quiet. In desperation, Harry spoke kindly to Malfoy, knowing that was probably the least likely thing to work. He was dumbfounded when, a moment later, Malfoy’s thin shoulders started to gently shudder. Though they were soft, Harry could even hear sobs coming from the blonde man.

Harry fully appreciated that this was the first time Malfoy had ever willingly been vulnerable around him. He’d witnessed Malfoy crying once before, and that had not ended well for either of them. As a result, Harry didn’t want to do something that would bollocks up the moment. He wanted to put Malfoy at ease, not incite him into a vicious rage or slice his chest open.

After the sobs showed no sign of stopping, Harry made his choice. Carefully, he slid his left hand, which had been stroking Malfoy’s back, to Malfoy’s left shoulder. He started coaxing Malfoy towards him until Malfoy’s head ended up in his lap. Harry kept his left hand on Malfoy’s back, sliding his right into Malfoy’s soft white-blonde hair. His former rival was still facing away from him, but Harry could tell that Malfoy’s weeping had slowed. He’d also relaxed, if only marginally.

Again, there was silence, but then Harry heard a quiet “Potter,” so silent it was almost imperceptible. He brushed Malfoy’s hair back in a question, bending slightly to bring his face closer to Malfoy’s. He waited, until finally Malfoy whispered, “I can’t–”

Harry understood. “We don’t have to talk about it,” he whispered back, right above Malfoy’s left ear. Malfoy nodded.

On impulse, he lifted Malfoy’s head and nudged his legs farther under Malfoy’s back. Wrapping both of his arms around Malfoy’s torso, Harry squeezed Malfoy and buried his face in the other man’s shoulder. Harry felt a strong compulsion to nuzzle into the crook between Malfoy’s neck and shoulder, but thought he was already pushing his luck enough. Surprisingly, Malfoy reacted a lot better than he’d thought, placing his own hands over where Harry’s were joined at his own torso. They were almost having a moment here.

There was another long silence where neither seemed to want to move away, but Harry was drawn out of his thoughts by Malfoy calling him again.

“Say literally anything, Potter.”

Even for Malfoy, that was a bit of a strange request. “Why?” Harry asked, confusion knotting his brow.  

“Because anything hurts less than the quiet,” whispered Malfoy.

Harry’s heart was breaking. Trying to sound upbeat to preserve Malfoy’s vulnerability, he asked in a chipper tone, “Maybe tomorrow you’d like to help me with rebuilding some of the dungeons?” He tried hard to sound like he wanted Malfoy’s company and not like he merely wanted to ensure Malfoy’s safety, admitting to himself both were absolutely true.

Malfoy met his eyes for the first time all evening, and nodded. Harry wasn’t going to push him anymore tonight. He wouldn’t have minded holding Malfoy for longer, but his legs were going numb after being stretched out in front of him for so long. He slowly released his grip, and Malfoy slid his own fingertips up Harry’s forearms as he sat up. Malfoy turned to face him again, and Harry could see tear tracks from where the droplets had run off Malfoy’s face. Impulsively, he thought about reaching out and wiping Malfoy’s face clean.

“Can you make it home alright, or do you want me to Apparate with you?”

“I’m not made of glass, Potter, I’m sure I can manage a short Apparation without supervision.” Malfoy’s words lacked the usual sneer and bite, and for once Harry actually felt compelled to read into them. Clearly, Malfoy was frustrated about being vulnerable and not able to defend himself against would-be attackers.

“Right, then,” Harry said, hoisting himself to his feet despite a brutal case of pins and needles. “Meet in the Great Hall tomorrow?”

Malfoy nodded again, and Harry felt that was his cue to leave. “Goodnight,” he said, striding back towards the castle.

“Potter,” came from behind him. Harry turned half around to see Malfoy carding his hand through his hair again, looking wearier than ever. “Thank you. Again.”

"No problem. See you tomorrow,” said Harry, appreciating the gesture.

“Goodnight,” said Malfoy softly, and his bottom lip jutted out just a little bit to make him look more innocent than ever.

With difficulty, Harry left him. The more unreasonable side of him wanted to storm right back over to Malfoy and insist on Apparating him home. Merlin, what was wrong with him?

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Draco regretfully watched Potter stride away, eyes lingering unwillingly on Potter’s arse. He wished suddenly that Potter would let him run his hands over it, squeeze it… Draco cut off that fantasy immediately. It was wrong to think of Potter in that way. He was only just getting to be Potter’s friend, and already owed him too much. How many times was that now Potter had come across Draco crying? A hell of a lot more times than he’d ever seen Potter cry, that’s for sure.

Draco had to admit, though, that Potter’s lap had been really warm and nice. He loved having his hair petted, and Potter seemed to know exactly where to exert pressure. The hug, though, that was something else. Draco had felt warmth through every part of his body, and could have fallen asleep there if Potter hadn’t rudely nudged him off. It was almost like a loving touch… But Draco couldn’t afford to delude himself. He and Potter were friends, nothing more. Tomorrow’s community service hours would be a lot more tolerable with Potter, and, as an added bonus, a lot safer.

With sleep overcoming him, Draco Apparated home. He sought out Mother, who helped him heal the injuries he’d incurred much earlier in the day, and then Draco treated himself to a shower. In bed, he found himself anxiously waiting for tomorrow. And he resolutely told himself that it was not simply because of Potter.

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	2. Delineation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Harry start building a friendship, despite Ron's and Hermione's disapproval.

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“Draco,” Harry whispered, gently running his fingers down Draco’s cheek and over his chin. “I don’t care that you were a Death Eater.”

Draco stared up at him in wonder. How did he ever get so lucky as to receive affection from this man? Suddenly, a dam broke within Draco’s heart, and he needed to be closer to Harry _right now_. He put his arms around Harry’s shoulders and pulled him down against him and the bed, crushing Harry in his embrace. Harry slid his arms behind Draco’s back, and though it was a little uncomfortable with Harry’s hands digging into his muscles, Draco wouldn’t change anything about the moment.

“I know you’re good,” Harry said gently in Draco’s ear, and Draco felt a shiver run down his spine.

“I want you,” Draco breathed, not sure that his body was ready while firmly convinced that his heart was. Harry pulled back from the hug, which Draco reluctantly allowed, and looked Draco firmly in the eyes.

“Are you sure you want this?” Harry asked, unable to stop touching Draco. He ran his hands over Draco’s thighs and hips. “I’d never ask you for it before you’re ready.”

“I don’t want _it_ ,” Draco said more firmly. “I want you.”

Harry’s eyes filled and he bent back down to Draco and kissed him passionately. Their lips met, and Draco was immediately addicted to the feeling of Harry’s hot, wet mouth. He deepened their kiss by slightly nibbling Harry’s bottom lip, and was gratified when just that simple act seemed to drive Harry wild. He grabbed Draco’s hip and thrust his tongue into Draco’s mouth, and their teeth clacked as both fought for dominance.

Draco liked the roughness, but he wanted the quieter, gentler Harry of just a moment before. He forced down the urge to control their encounter, letting Harry take the reins. Immediately the kiss became sweet again.

“Harry,” Draco said into Harry’s mouth. “ _Harry_.”

Harry pulled away from Draco and stroked his cheek again. “That’s the first time you’ve used my given name, I think.”

“It is, I know it is,” said Draco, smiling up at his lover.

“I haven’t used yours yet though,” grinned Harry mischievously. “I’m saving it for a special occasion.”

“Which is?” asked Draco, sitting up as much as possible.

“Oh, you’ll see.” Harry reached forward and freed the bottom of Draco’s shirt, tugging it up and over his head. He wrapped his arms around Draco before gently pushing him back down to the bed. Draco was already half-hard, but became rock solid as Harry started licking and sucking on his nipples, which were surprisingly sensitive.

“Harry,” Draco moaned, running his fingers through Harry’s hair and tightening his grasp whenever Harry did something that felt particularly good. “More. Please.”

Still nibbling away, Harry looked up and met Draco’s eyes, smirking again. Draco was enthralled by the beautiful emerald green orbs that stared back at him with such love. He started kissing his way down Draco’s chest, lightly tickling Draco’s sides. Draco started to get slightly nervous as Harry worked his way down and started unzipping Draco’s trousers.

Sensing Draco’s hesitation, Harry again straightened up without a trace of annoyance and asked, “Is this okay?”

Nodding, Draco tried to breathe deeply and not feel uncomfortable. Just because no one had ever seen his cock didn’t mean that the experience would be necessarily bad. Harry was wonderful, after all.

This fact was reaffirmed in Draco’s mind seconds later as Harry eased down Draco’s trousers and pants to release his cock. Unable to watch initially, Draco started up at the ceiling as Harry started to rub him. It felt fantastic, and he was sure that there was already pre-come on his tip. Before Draco had time to feel properly embarrassed, he felt wet kisses being peppered all over his cock. Harry fondled Draco’s balls, and he couldn’t help but look down as he felt Harry lick a trail from the base of his shaft all the way up to his head, where Harry sucked and lightly flicked with his tongue.

It felt amazing, and Draco felt his eyes roll back into his head because nothing had ever felt so wonderful before. When Harry finally took Draco’s cock all the way into his mouth, Draco gasped and let out a moan. What could be better than this?

Harry licked, sucked, and bobbed until Draco was sure he was going to come. “Harry,” he cried, “No, stop, I’m going to –”

Smiling wickedly, Harry looked at Draco before giving one last hearty lap to Draco’s cock.

“I need you _now_ ,” Draco said, already dazed and pleasured by the amount of love he felt coming from Harry, as well as Harry’s gorgeousness.

“Happy to oblige,” teased Harry, finally shrugging out of his own clothes. He slid up the bed to rest on Draco’s right side, kissing him passionately. Draco could taste himself on Harry’s lips and immediately became rock hard again. Harry nudged Draco over on his side so that Draco’s back was against Harry’s chest and breathed, “Relax, love,” kissing the back of Draco’s neck. 

Again, Draco took deep breaths, feeling Harry’s lubed finger push into him. It felt so good that he was soon asking for more and more, until finally Harry had two fingers in him and was adding a third.

“Harry,” Draco sobbed, “Come on already, damnit.”

He felt Harry laugh and kiss his neck again before finally starting to push in. Draco could feel the head of Harry’s cock breaching him and remained desperate for _more_. Finally, Harry was inside of him, inside him in a painful-yet-brilliant way, and Draco wantonly tightened himself around Harry’s cock in an attempt to get him to move.

“Stop rushing, _Draco_ , because I’m about to take you apart. You’re going to come undone, love.”

He pushed into Draco finally; hitting a pleasure point that Draco wasn’t even aware existed before pulling back out, causing the blonde man to cry out louder than before. “Harder!” he sobbed, aching for more.

“Of course, Master Draco,” Harry said. “Master Draco, you need to come on!”

Draco’s lust ridden mind and contented heart couldn’t make heads or tails of why Harry was calling him Master Draco. When had that ever been a thing they did?

“Master Draco! Master Draco sir!”

“Harry,” breathed Draco, “Stop calling me Master.”

In response, Harry slapped Draco hard on the arse. The way he did it didn’t particularly turn Draco on, and it rather hurt. “Harry, what the fuck?” he scoffed, annoyed.

SMACK. This time Draco couldn’t mistake the blow; it was one Tipsy his house elf always gave him when he couldn’t get out of bed in the morning. As a child, he'd been so impossible to rouse in the morning Narcissa had been forced to permit the elf to wake Draco by any means necessary. Years later, Tipsy still used and abused this privilege. Draco's eyes flew open and were met by two enormous house elf eyes that were frantic with worry.

“Master Draco! Master Draco!” she shouted anxiously. “You is going to be late to Hogwarts, sir!”

Panic flooding him, Draco shot up and grabbed his wand, casting a quick Tempus. He only had minutes to get ready and apparate to Hogwarts, where he was supposed to meet Potter.

“Tipsy, make me some toast!” he shouted upon discovering how sticky and wet his pants were. “Please,” he added as an afterthought. After she’d left the room, Draco yanked back the covers to see just how much mess had been made. Dear sweet Merlin. At least he could get rid of some of the come before the house elves had to deal with the laundry.

There wasn’t time to take a shower, but Draco made time: there was no way he was leaving the house looking utterly debauched. He made this executive decision after catching sight of himself in the mirror. It was utterly horrifying to think of what Tipsy had heard him saying in his dream.

Dear God, had he really been dreaming about Potter? Draco had never had such an intense dream before, even when he was in Voldemort’s employ and nightmares were just his norm. In fact, Draco could almost still feel Potter’s touch on his body…

This was going to make working with the man impossible. Draco wasn’t going to be able to last a minute without wanting Potter to push him up against one of the walls they were rebuilding and kiss him, fuck him so thoroughly that Draco couldn’t even see straight afterwards.

He had no choice to finish what he and Dream Potter had started and not been able to properly conclude, wanking furiously to thoughts of Potter penetrating him and crying “Draco, Draco!” The pounding of the shower and the hot water could almost substitute for the incredible warmth of Potter’s arms, but of course it fell short.

Draco tried not to feel melancholy at the fact that Potter would never want him this way, and focused on the fact that he would be reunited with Potter in just ten short minutes.

“Tipsy!” Draco shouted after his shower while drying off. “Is my toast ready yet?”

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Harry waited impatiently for Malfoy in the Great Hall, unconsciously tapping his foot. He was anxious to get on with the renovations and _of course_ Malfoy was late because he just had to be a dramatic git. It was already past eight, and Harry was tired of waiting. People were moving in and out of the Hall, glancing at him curiously as if wondering why he was just standing around when there was work to be done.

He amused himself by casting little golden streams of light into the air and forming them into abstract patterns, deciding that when Malfoy arrived he was getting assigned all the grunt work for the day. Finally, at a quarter past eight, Malfoy strode into the Great Hall. Harry noticed that he was again dressed in muggle clothes. Today he wore another pair of blue jeans and a red T shirt.

As Malfoy approached, he called out, “Well, Potter? Ready to get this show on the road?” He subtly ignored the glares from several Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, who were passing by with several candelabras. Harry locked eyes with Malfoy, but was instantly distracted by a motion just behind Malfoy. One of the Ravenclaws had lit a candlestick and was trying to subtly catch Malfoy on fire. Was she stupid? Did she honestly not see Harry standing there, or think that he would refrain from intervening? Well, it was high time he made an example out of someone who saw fit to fuck with Malfoy.

Nonverbally, Harry cast an Aguamenti at the flame, but instead of simply extinguishing the flame, he created a roaring wave of water that crashed down upon the offending Ravenclaw. She stood there, soaking wet, and gazed dumbfounded back at Harry. Malfoy had continued walking towards Harry, unaware of the exchange happening behind him, so Harry simply made eye contact with the Ravenclaw and pointedly reached out to shake Malfoy’s hand. Confused, Malfoy went with it. “Come on, Malfoy,” Harry said. He turned to lead the way to the Slytherin dungeons, clapping Malfoy on the shoulder as they went. Nothing else was necessary to convey that he stood with Malfoy and would have words with anyone who wanted to cause trouble.

As they walked down the rubbly corridor, Harry conversationally said, “By the way, Malfoy, you’re doing all the heavy lifting today.”

Malfoy assumed a face of perfect innocence, adopting huge silver puppy dog eyes. “Really, Potter? Just because I happened to be a few minutes late this morning?”

“Malfoy, I waited for you for almost fifteen minutes.”

“What a horror story, Potter. I’ve been waiting my whole life for you.” Malfoy almost sounded _sentimental_. With his peripheral vision, Harry saw Malfoy’s eyes open just a bit wider. It was clearly true, but was more than he wanted to reveal and it ended up making him extraordinarily vulnerable.

“Sod off, Malfoy,” Harry said quickly to diffuse the tension. “Believe me; you’re going to keep waiting. Tomorrow, just _maybe,_ I’ll bring you in some breakfast.”

“I’m going to hold you to that, Potter,” said Malfoy, recovering quickly. “In fact, after I slave around for you all day, maybe you’ll even see fit to buy me some dinner.”

“Ha,” said Harry. “As if. You’ll be late every single morning after that just so we can come to the same arrangement and you can get a free dinner every night.”

Malfoy looked almost disappointed for some reason. For some reason, could he have been just looking for an excuse to go out to dinner with Harry?

“Tell you what,” conceded Harry. “If you can be on time for the rest of the week, we’ll bugger off early on Friday and get some lunch.”

“Deal,” said Malfoy, lips turning up into a small smile. “But don’t think you’re going to get away with just taking me out for some fish and chips, Potter. I want a nice lunch, complete with the best champag–”

“Really, Malfoy?” retorted Harry. “I offer to buy you lunch and you have the nerve to dictate what quality it has to be?”

“Of course, Potter,” Malfoy exclaimed. “Malfoys are not plebeians.”

“I thought you didn’t want to be a Malfoy anymore,” grumbled Harry.

“It sure would make things easier,” admitted Malfoy. “But for the time being I don’t have a better name fit for adopting.”

They had finally, finally reached the inner dungeon where the most renovations were necessary.

“Okay, Malfoy,” cackled Harry. “Why don’t you conjure up a wheelbarrow and start transporting some of this nasty dirt out to the greenhouses?”

“Seriously, Potter?” balked Malfoy. “I thought you were just going to have me cast all the magic or something; you literally want me to work with my hands?”

“That’s what work is, Malfoy.”

Malfoy sighed, and Harry expected to a lot more resistance to come from the pointy blonde who (except for yesterday) had never done a hard day’s work in his life. Oddly enough, he conjured up the wheelbarrow and even thought to include a shovel. Harry was doubly surprised when he thrust the shovel down into the collapsed dirt and rubble and lifted up a big shovelful to dump into the barrow.

Harry himself started to smooth out the walls, scraping away any moldy residue and cutting out any damaged segments before filling the holes and casting spells to ensure that the walls would not easily collapse. It was almost relaxing, working in silence with Malfoy. He had a long walk out to the greenhouses, but it took him almost equally as long to fill up the wheelbarrow.

He was humming to himself, idly looking at all the different flaws still left to fix in the wall, when he heard an echo coming from deep down the corridor. Concerned for Malfoy, Harry started walking towards the noise. He almost lost an eye as one of the small digging tools Malfoy had conjured to clean up the last bit of dirt flew towards his face.

“Malfoy, what the fuck?”

“Bugger off, Potter. I’m out of here. Just wanted to give you regards from some of the Gryffindorks.” Malfoy stepped into the light, covered from head to toe in dirt – Harry couldn’t even tell the color of Malfoy’s hair because he was so smudged. He also had a long, thin cut on his left cheek, blood steadily flowing down his face and dripping onto his shirt.

“Wait – Malfoy,” said Harry. “What happened?  Who did this –”

Malfoy turned on his heel and made to stomp back down the corridor, heading for the outer grounds of Hogwarts so he could apparate out.

Harry let Malfoy get about three good strides away before jogging over and grabbing his arm. “Malfoy, really. It’s not like you’ve ever resisted finking on someone before. Merlin, just tell me who it was.”

Malfoy’s silver eyes met his, and Harry saw fear and hurt lurking there, swimming beneath the thin layer of tears Harry could see forming.

“Malfoy –” Harry said, gently running his fingers down Malfoy’s arm. Malfoy took a deep breath and seemed to steel himself.

“Potter, I’m not perfect,” Malfoy spat. “I asked for it, alright? Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.” 

 Harry wasn’t going to let it go, but just then Ron and Hermione came running down the corridor, faces blotchy and infuriated. Malfoy held Harry’s eye contact for another split second before breaking into a run and streaking past Ron and Hermione, back towards the Hogwarts grounds.

“What the absolute fuck, Harry?” raged Ron. “Since when do you conspire with the enemy? Or did you forget that he was a _Death Eater_?”

“I hate to break it to you,” said Hermione, quivering with anger. “But Malfoy hasn’t changed at all, Harry, he’s just using you. A group of Hufflepuffs bullied him yesterday, so he’s relying on you for protection.”

“What happened?” asked Harry, wanting to defend Malfoy but knowing that his friends wouldn’t listen until they’d said their piece.

“We were outside the greenhouses replanting some of Professor Sprout’s Fanged Geraniums,” said Hermione, as usual more collected and logical than Ron. “And Malfoy came over to dump some fresh dungeon dirt off for us. Ron said – of course, he should have left well enough alone, but that doesn’t justify Malfoy’s response –” 

“Hermione, you saw the way he was looking at us, don’t tell me he didn’t ask for exactly what I said to him –”

“What exactly _did_ you say to Malfoy?” interrupted Harry.

“It wasn’t anything too bad, just ‘Never thought I’d see you stooped so low, Malfoy, to be playing in the dirt like a muggle gardener.’”

“Malfoy though, he was totally out of line with his response,” said Hermione earnestly. “He actually said, ‘I imagine you know all about dirt, Weasel, I hear your home’s practically made of it.’”

“Okay,” said Harry. “So you traded some insults. How did Malfoy get all covered in dirt? And what happened to his face?”

“Harry,” said Ron. “You do think we were justified in what we did, right? I mean, you _heard_ what Malfoy said…”

“Ron, what happened to Malfoy’s face?”

Ron looked like Harry had slapped him. Hermione took over the storytelling again, gazing questioningly at Harry. “Well, Ron wanted to start choking him, so instead, I sent him careening into his own dirt pile.”

“You pushed him?” asked Harry, staring at Hermione incredulously. “Are we still in third year or something?”

“Of course not, Harry. But someone like him shouldn’t be able to come over to me Ron and start talking out his arse, not after what we did during the War.”

“How did his face get scratched then? Did you attack him with one of the Fanged Geraniums?”

“Harry, for Merlin’s sake, he just must have scratched himself when he fell into the dirt mountain.”

“We didn’t touch his face, mate,” said Ron anxiously. “Seriously though, it’s not as if you’ve ever really taken Malfoy’s wellbeing seriously.”

“In response to what you asked before,” Harry said, trying not to snap from anger, “No, I don’t agree with what you did. You started talking shit, and he responded in kind. There’s no such thing as ‘asking for it.’ You’re not better than he is just because you fought on the right side of the War.”

“Regardless, Harry,” said Hermione, exasperated. “It’s _Malfoy_. He’s always been a git to all of us. You remember how he used to call Muggle-borns ‘Mudbloods’ and worse?”

“He’s changed,” said Harry. “Besides, we’re better than this. We’re supposed to put the War behind us – that’s why we’re doing these renovations. None of us liked it when the Muggle-borns were being persecuted, and I’m not about to condone punishing all former Death Eaters. Malfoy went on trial; he’s paying his reparations. It’s not any of our places to determine his punishment.”

“Fair enough,” said Ron, who had been quite concerned for Hermione’s sake during the previous year when Muggle-borns were being rounded up. “But still, we really don’t understand why you’re so concerned with what happens to him. It’s good to see Malfoy taken down a couple of pegs.”

Harry shrugged. “I kind of like him. He apologized to me the night of the Final Battle. I think we’re becoming friends.”

Flabbergasted, Ron tripped over a stray rock and Hermione let out an involuntary squeak of surprise.

Hermione recovered first. “You’re kidding, Harry. You have to be. You heard what I said before about Malfoy using you, right?”

“Yeah, I did,” said Harry. “But that doesn’t mean I agree with you.”

Hurt, now Hermione was the one who drew back as though Harry had slapped her. Ron slid an arm around her shoulders comfortingly and glared at Harry. “What’s wrong with you, mate? We’ve won, everything is back to normal now. You’ve been dicking Ginny around for the past month, and it’s making me sick!”

“Is that what this is about?” demanded Harry. “How I treated your sister? Really? You know Ron, I told her that I didn’t love her. That I didn’t want to be with her anymore. It’s not my fault she can’t accept that.”

“I can,” inserted Hermione. “If you told her the same way you told us.”

“No, I didn’t tell her like that,” said Harry, exasperated. “I tried to be gentle, but she didn’t want to hear what I was saying. Kind of how you two don’t want to hear what I’m saying about Malfoy. Yeah, I get it. It’s my fault if he’s not reformed and I get burned from associating with him. But you know what? I’m willing to take that risk. I’m trying to be a bigger person in this new world, and I think it’s best for all of us if you two try as well.”

With that said, after a quick glance at Ron and Hermione’s stunned faces Harry turned tail and followed Malfoy’s footsteps out of the dungeon corridor. He had a blonde pointy git to find.

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Draco was still in the shower. After leaving Harry with his pathetic excuses for friends, Draco had apparated straight back to the Manor. Damn the community service, at least for today. He was done with Hogwarts for good, though. Tomorrow would be the perfect opportunity to join Mother at the London Garden, and as for school, maybe the Ministry would let him finish out his education at Durmstrang or at Ilvermorny. Mother was still connected with the Senior Undersecretary’s wife; perhaps she would be able to pull some strings…

“Master Draco?” squeaked Topsy, his most loyal house elf.

Draco did not dignify her with a response; because she had known him since birth, she understood not to bother him when he was this upset.

“Master Draco, I is knowing that you can hear me!”

“Yes, Topsy?” hissed Draco. Merlin, house elves today were getting sassier and sassier. Probably had to do with all the S.P.E.W. nonsense that Granger still supported, which she was now trying to push through the Ministry in legislative form.

“Sir, Mr. Harry Potter is here to see you! Topsy is giving Mr. Harry Potter biscuits, but he is not wanting them, Sir! He makes poor Topsy come and fetch Master Draco!”

Draco sighed. Trust Potter to play the hero card again and rush in again when he was vulnerable. What was he even thinking this morning, blatantly telling Potter that he’d been longing for him forever? It _was_ nothing but the truth, his brain unhelpfully reminded him.

“Tell him to go home,” Draco said, rewashing his hair for the third time. “I’m showering, and I don’t intend to be done anytime soon.”

Topsy disapparated with a _pop_ , and Draco felt simultaneously relieved and disappointed. Hell if he hadn’t wanted to see Potter, who had the annoying habit of making Draco feel better. But there was going to be no more Potter either, he reminded himself. Potter belonged at Hogwarts, and he was going to be transferring schools, preferably attending Ilvermorny. Draco spent a moment mourning, yet again, for not being able to make things work with Potter. Hell if he didn’t actually want to be Potter’s friend, and maybe something more…

 _Click_. What was that strange sound? If Topsy had come back, she would have simply Apparated into the room, not opened the door. And that was the sound of the door opening, right?

“Malfoy?” said a voice from directly outside the shower door. Draco involuntarily jumped, soap flying out of his hand and knocking over the shampoo bottled he'd already half-emptied. Cursing under his breath, Draco took a moment to admire the audacity of Potter, who, even with his lack of manners, wasn’t one to go tromping around people’s houses and barging into their closed bathroom doors. Unable to help himself, Draco yanked open the shower door and stuck his head out. Yes, it was Potter all right.

“Potter, I told you that I’m _fine_.” Draco enunciated his words carefully, letting Potter see his silent rage. He effectively ended the conversation by slamming the shower door shut so hard it rebounded open again. Shaking a silent fist at Potter, Draco reluctantly slid the door closed more reasonably.

“Malfoy,” said Potter. He sounded muffled from outside the shower. “I know you’re not, the way you ran out of the dungeons...”

“Come off it, Potter,” said Draco. His resolve was weakening, but there was a major barrier they were not going to be able to get around. “I’m sure that your _friends_ told you the story already; aren’t you supposed to be on their side? Why are you even here?”

"Are you decent, Malfoy?"

"What?" Draco spluttered. "Of course I'm not _decent_ , Potter, I'm in the bloody shower!"

As usual, Potter wasn't listening because _the shower door was opening_. The shower door was opening, and Harry Potter was coming in. Fully clothed. Draco’s mouth dropped open as Potter deftly stepped in, closing the door behind him. The spray was hitting him full-on, soaking his hair and body, making his T shirt hug his chest form fittingly. Draco couldn’t breathe because Potter was in his shower and he was still _naked_. He desperately wanted to cover himself lest Potter look down and see him totally exposed, but found that he couldn’t move a single muscle.

Potter was staring right at Draco’s face, and Draco was lost in the beautiful emerald green eyes that were blazing upon him. He recovered himself enough to squawk, “Potter, what the _hell_ is the matter with you?!” But Potter being Potter, he barreled on with no thought for Draco’s condition.

“Malfoy, you’re my friend too. Ron and Hermione know that now, and they may not be happy with it, but they know. Why did you think I’d automatically take their side? You were the one that came out of it worse for wear, not them.” Potter stopped for a breath, wiping water off of his face as Draco wrenched the bath mat off of the floor and held it in front of his privates like a shield.

Able to think more clearly now that he was slightly more covered, Draco thought the answer to Potter’s question was obvious, but Potter seemed to expect an answer. “Because that’s how it’s been forever, Potter. You always take their side because they’re your closest friends.”

“I don’t agree with what they did to you.”

He must have heard Potter wrong, because there was no way he was condemning what his friends did and taking Draco’s side. He simply stared at Potter, bath mat flapping uncomfortably against his shins.

“Really, Malfoy, I don’t. You sniped at Ron, but he started it. It wouldn’t really be fair to ask you to refrain from trading jibes with him after he insulted you, as great as it would be if you were the bigger person and ignored him.”

Draco was dumbfounded that Potter understood, and totally blown away that he actually _could_ understand. He hadn’t been expecting much of Potter after that episode had happened, but Potter was surprising him yet again.

Potter gave him a soft smile, still determinedly not looking down – a fact for which Draco was grateful. He imagined the sight was pretty amusing.

“Malfoy, your face. You didn’t heal it.”

“Oh, it’s nothing, Potter, I’ll tend to it when I get out of the shower –”

Instead, Potter came closer, closing the distance between them with one long step. He raised a hand and ran it over the wound on Draco’s face, touching him softly. Though Potter did not use a wand or verbal incantation, Draco felt the skin seal and itch slightly as it healed completely.

“Thanks, Potter,” he whispered. They were very close together now, only six inches apart with Potter’s hand still upon Draco’s face. Draco was very glad for the bathmat shield.

“Will you come back to Hogwarts tomorrow?” asked Potter, gazing at Draco with intense, determined eyes.

“I don’t know,” admitted Draco, dropping his gaze. “I keep getting attacked there, and if I defend myself too effectively, I might end up in Azkaban. No matter where I go there’s always someone out for blood.”

Potter sighed. “Yeah, I know. I wish there was something more I could do, maybe I should give a speech or something?”

“ _No_ ,” said Draco firmly, meeting Potter’s eyes again. “You’ve done enough, really. It’s nice to have around someone who doesn’t want to kill me, and like I said this morning, I always did want to get to know you.”

Smiling, Potter said, “That was quite a confession earlier, Malfoy.”

Draco smiled back at him. “Yeah, yeah, Potter. Don’t get used to it.” He very much wanted to kiss Potter, but something was still holding him back. It might have been the bathmat. And it probably wouldn’t be such a good idea when their friendship was still so new; it simply wouldn’t do to fuck up their friendship when he’d longed for this his entire life. Besides, if he did have a chance, Draco wanted to wait for exactly the right moment before trying to move forward with Potter.

Even as he was considering the possibility of Potter's mouth, they'd run out of things to say and awkwardness was setting in. Draco remembered he was indeed standing naked in his shower with a fully-dressed Potter not even a foot away. He could feel his face turning bright red as Potter wiped his dripping hair away from his face. Not totally oblivious, Potter seemed to realize that, not even ten minutes before, he'd brashly climbed into someone's shower.

“So, er -Malfoy. About those biscuits,” Potter said sheepishly, charming Draco despite his poor manners and social skills

“Do you prefer chocolate or cinnamon flavored?” teased Draco, trying to adopt a lighthearted tone to disguise his awkwardness. Potter wasn’t fit to go anywhere near biscuits, soaking wet as he was.

“Definitely chocolate,” said Potter, flushing slightly as well as he looked up at the ceiling before nodding thoughtfully.

“You are something else,” laughed Draco. “I have to say, you are the first guest I’ve ever entertained in my shower.”

 “Oh really?” quipped Potter, raising his eyebrows.

"Sod off,” returned Draco. “You know what I meant.” How was he going to get past Potter and out of the shower? Best not to put too much thought into it. He sidestepped towards the shower handle, holding the bathmat at an angle to carefully avoid brushing his manly bits against Potter, though even the thought of such an activity excited Draco. “Stay here so you don’t drip on the floor while I get you a towel.” He exited the shower, dropping the sodding mat and carefully hiding his face so Potter couldn't see him furiously blushing as he strode across the floor towards the towel shelf. Though while watching their reflections in the mirror, Draco had to inwardly smirk as he caught Potter definitely checking out him out (with a bright red face) as he bent down to retrieve the fluffiest towels from the bottom shelf.

Draco did a quick once over with the towel before tying it around his waist and taking the other one back to Potter, who was determinedly staring at the Malfoy canvases embroidered with needlepoint. Without even looking at Draco, Potter took the towel and started drying himself off without even removing his clothes.

“Would you happen to have some pumpkin juice to go along with those biscuits?” asked Potter, whose cheeks were still flushed even moments later.

"Are you having me on?" demanded Draco, seizing his comb from the countertop and running it backwards through his platinum blonde hair.

Potter stared at him like _he_ was the mad one. "I like biscuits and I like pumpkin juice. Got a problem with that, Malfoy?"

"Potter, one does not simply drink _pumpkin juice_ with biscuits,” sighed Draco, throwing his comb back onto the counter for Tipsy to straighten up later. "That's like pairing hot chocolate and salmon. Disgusting."

“Not to me," Potter stubbornly claimed before finally relenting. "Fine, then. Would you be so kind as to serve me up a proper cup of _tea_?”

Draco laughed. “Potter, I’ll do anything you ask if you let me tame that unruly hair of yours.”

“I’ll remember you said that,” Potter warned. “And am most definitely holding you to it.”

“Fair enough,” agreed Draco. “Come over here, then, and let me have at you.” He turned and faced the mirror again, closely watching their reflections. Potter looked at his turned back with a look of contentment, and Draco’s heart hurt again as he found himself wanting to press Potter back into his shower door and kiss the smile off of his face.

Potter noticed Draco looking at him through the mirror, and made eye contact again. Unable to help himself, Draco smiled widely, and Potter grinned back from across the room before walking forwards and plopping down on the chair in front of Draco, having already resigned himself to the formerly agreed-on hair styling session.

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	3. Inspiration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After spending a lot of time together, Draco works up the courage to bring Harry back to the Manor and show him the butterfly garden.

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Draco knew – despite his better judgement and sense of self-preservation – that he was beginning to fall for Potter a little more each day. Things had gotten just a little heated in the bathroom when Potter had come to the Manor and stared at Draco’s arse, but after that, Potter’s behavior had been a combination of professional and friendly. Draco hadn’t seen him slip up once, and for Potter, that had to be some kind of accomplishment. The man practically wore his feelings, after all.

They were in the middle of reconstructing the famous Gryffindor Tower, even though Draco had always hated the sight of it, and he was a bit disgusted that all Potter ever seemed to do was work. Potter had kept his word and taken Draco out for lunch two Fridays ago – Draco was late one more time that week, but Potter forgave him – and they’d had a surprisingly nice time. Before the lunch, Draco hadn’t known if he and Potter could spend time together outside of the Hogwarts Grounds without slipping back into old habits. Now, though, that he was sure they could, Draco wanted Potter to get out a little more. He was entirely too diligent and hardworking for Draco’s tastes.

“Potter, you work too much.”

Potter laughed. “After seven years, you’re only just noticing that now?”

“Well, it’s not like you were really all that scholarly while we were in school,” Draco pointed out. “You’re much better with your hands.”

There was a noise like a strangled cat, and Draco figured that he’d accidentally insulted Potter. “Don’t get offended, you brute. I never meant to imply that you weren’t intelligent, just that you do better when you have a project to put back together.” He shoved Potter towards the base of the bricked wall that they’d constructed the day before. “Besides, Granger and I were at the top of our class…”

Potter steadied himself and returned the shove to Draco, who leaned into it playfully. “I work hard, Malfoy, so what? Even you’re starting to see the merits of good backbreaking labor these days.”

Draco winced. “Speak for yourself, Potter. My muscles haven’t been properly relaxed since we started this miserable task.”

“Malfoy,” began Potter.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” said Draco, waving a hand at Potter. “Rebuilding Hogwarts is a worthwhile cause. But for Merlin’s sakes, you need a break. Periodic breaks, actually.”

Potter nodded. “And I suppose you’ve got something in mind?”

Draco smiled. “Actually, Potter, I do. I don’t suppose you’ve really seen much of the world outside of Hogwarts and Diagon Alley?”

“No, not really,” admitted Potter reluctantly. “All the traveling I did was related to hunting Voldemort.”

“I figured as much,” said Draco, nodding. “Tell you what, Potter. Why don’t you let me show you some of the best places?”

“Please tell me that we’re not going to be in a fancy restaurant every other night, Malfoy,” shuddered Potter. Draco could only imagine Potter’s horror if he made that nightmare a reality.

“Don’t worry, Potter,” smirked Draco. “There are so many other places where you can learn to leave behind your hopeless plebian status…”

Potter snorted.

“Oh wait,” said Draco thoughtfully. “I’m not sure if that’s possible. Thanks for reminding me.”

Potter crossed his arms and glared at Draco, tapping his foot. “Get to the point, Malfoy. Or haven’t you seen exactly how much tower we still have to rebuild?”

“ _Slow down_ , Potter,” Draco directed. “Remember how we were talking about taking breaks? You’re on one now. _Relax_.”

Potter sighed. “Malfoy, I can’t really stand around while there’s all this work to be done. People are counting on me to get this done, and –”

“First off,” Draco interrupted. “You can’t possibly rebuild Hogwarts alone, so stop flattering yourself. And I never thought you were one to really care about what people thought.”

“Fair enough,” conceded Potter. “But people are –”

“Potter,” chastised Draco, exasperated. “You wouldn’t be friends with me if you cared what people think, so stop pretending like you do. What’s this really about?”

Draco turned to look Potter in the eye, but Potter’s gaze dropped to the ground and stayed there. He was suddenly aware that Potter was actually upset by something and not just fabricating reasons to make Draco work harder and stay longer hours.

Suddenly unsure what to do or say to make Potter feel better, Draco watched uncomfortably as a tear dripped off the end of Potter’s nose. Remembering how Potter had comforted him on what was now multiple occasions, Draco walked forward and laid a hand on Potter’s shoulder. He didn’t say anything; he didn’t need to say anything. After a moment, Potter sank down to the ground, leaning back against Gryffindor Tower.

Mimicking Potter’s actions, Draco settled down on Potter’s left side. He rested his hand on Potter’s thigh, close to his knee. Draco didn’t dare go any further up Potter’s thigh because his brain might stop working altogether then.

After a long while, Potter wiped his face and turned to Draco. His eyes were just the slightest bit bloodshot and had the beginning of dark bags underneath them.

“Draco,” said Potter slowly, “It’s partially my fault that Hogwarts was destroyed so badly in the first place. If I would have just come out when Voldemort summoned me –” He did not complete the sentence.

Heavily refraining from sighing, Draco made an odd noise of comfort. “Potter,” he said rationally, “Voldemort was coming to Hogwarts whether you were there or not. Remember the Horcrux? That’s just one thing that would have lured him back. The possibility of growing his force was another.”

“That may be true,” said Potter, “But on the night of the Final Battle, I’m the reason why he was there. If it had all gone down somewhere else, the students would still have a school.”

“The students do have a school,” Draco said patiently. “We’re rebuilding it, but they have a school. The start of term’s not even going to be delayed at all. We’re doing them a disservice, if you ask me. I’m sure they all would have appreciated another week or so off while waiting for the renovations to finish up.”

 “Even so,” sighed Potter, “The responsibility is on me to finish the project. Everyone sees me as their Savior, and they want me to put the world back together. I have to at least try, and it’s _so far_ from being done.”

Draco took his chances and slid his right arm around Potter’s shoulders. A quick second later, Potter rested his head in the crook between Draco’s neck and shoulders. He was instantly warmed and comforted by Potter’s warm skin and soft hair.

“Harry, have you realized yet that you literally just _saved the world_? People have no business asking you for anything else, because you’ve already done more than most ever will in a lifetime.”

There was a strange feeling coming from the areas of his body that Potter was touching. It took Draco a moment to realize that Potter was gently rubbing his nose against the side of Draco’s neck, but after he made the connection, fire shot through his bones and flooded his cock. Longing filling him, Draco wanted to comfort Potter with a simple kiss and perhaps something more…

“Malfoy,” groaned Potter. “Yeah, I’ve realized that. But for some reason I can’t bring myself to accept it. I feel like I have to keep working and giving back to the community.”

His cock was straining now against his muggle jeans, and Draco prayed that Potter didn’t notice how affected his body was by Potter’s touch. “That’s why you should accept my offer, Potter. You can put everything back into perspective after you’ve seen some more of the world.”

“Are you talking about like a vacation, Malfoy?” Potter asked, blearily lifting his head up to look Draco in the eyes.

“It could be, but doesn’t have to be,” shrugged Draco. He just wanted to lean forward and kiss Potter on those red lips, and smooth away the wrinkles and stress beneath his eyes and yet Potter insisted on keeping the conversation going. “I can show you the beauty of home as well. I would bet you 5 galleons that I can find at least three places in England alone that you’ve been, but never fully appreciated before.”

“You’re on, Malfoy.” Potter nestled back into the crook of Draco’s neck, and Draco equated the sensation with sliding into a warm bath. “If you can take me to three places in England and show me what I’ve missed, then we can have a vacation and see other parts of the world.”

Draco smiled. He gently ghosted his fingers over Potter’s back, listening as the other man’s breathing slowed. “You’re in for the ride of your life, Potter.”

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Harry looked at his wall clock and sighed. It was 5:37am and yet he couldn’t go back to sleep. Even though Malfoy had insisted that Harry was working too hard, he’d still planned their first London outing for 6am on a Saturday morning. That seemed pretty counterproductive to Harry, but he supposed Malfoy knew what he was doing. If he didn’t; well then Harry was prepared to put up a bit of a stint about the ridiculous early morning plans.

Grumbling, he ran his comb uselessly through his hair and went to brush his teeth. What was he even going to wear? Malfoy would never let Harry live it down if he wasn’t dressed properly for the occasion, but conveniently had forgotten to tell him where they were going. It was chilly out today, so Harry pulled on a pair of brown slacks and an emerald green sweater. If Malfoy had any problems, well then he could provide some more information about the outing next time.

Remembering how much grief he’d given Malfoy over being late, Harry grudgingly skipped breakfast and Flooed over to Malfoy Manor.

“Ah, good, Potter, you’re right on time,” said Malfoy from behind him.

“Actually, I’m early,” said Harry, turning around to face Malfoy. At least he’d seemed to have chosen his outfit well: Malfoy was wearing a slate gray sweater over a black shirt with a fitted pair of black trousers.

“All time is relative anyway,” conceded Malfoy. “Come on, Potter, let’s go. We’re going to be late.”

Even at the best of times, Malfoy still made no sense. Harry shook his head and willingly followed Malfoy out the Manor’s front door and down the walk, to where they could safely apparate off the property.

Harry was about to turn on the spot and disappear, but then remembered he still didn’t know where he was going. Malfoy looked at him with the typical smirk Harry had come to expect whenever he was about to be teased.

“Troubles, Potter?” Malfoy drawled. He proffered his arm, which Harry had no choice but to take. Though Malfoy spun with grace, Harry was off-balance from the beginning and stumbled when they made it to their destination. Surprisingly, Malfoy tightened his grip against Harry’s arm and drew him back against his body. Malfoy’s body was hard and lean, and Harry found himself enjoying the way Malfoy felt behind him. His mind, without any further provocation, immediately started wondering what Malfoy would feel like in front of him.

All too soon, Malfoy was releasing his arm and striding off down the street – where were they? Knockturn Alley? – calling behind him, “Come on, Potter!”

Harry shook himself out of fantasy world and lightly jogged after Malfoy. Yes, they were in Knockturn Alley. What could Malfoy possibly have to show him here?

He followed Malfoy down alleyways that were dark even at 8am, weaving in and out of buildings until Harry totally lost his sense of direction. They walked on, silently, for another ten minutes. Malfoy gave nothing about the final destination away from his facial expression.

Finally, they went through one last building and came out in the middle of a dark, dank cave. “Malfoy,” said Harry. “I’ve never been here before so it doesn’t count.”

Malfoy furiously fixed Harry with an annoyed look. He held one finger up to his lips and hissed, “Shh, Potter!”

Properly chastised, Harry glared at Malfoy and went back to staring at their surroundings. There really wasn’t much here to see. He looked back at Malfoy, who had rolled up his sleeves to just underneath his elbow and was staring intently past the stalactites and stalagmites to the cave wall directly across from them. Harry tried to follow his lead, but got impatient with staring at nothing for five minutes straight. “Malfoy, I really think that –”

“Potter, you’re missing it!”

Harry spun back around and saw beautiful luminescent green moss quickly spreading outward from the middle of the far wall and over the sides and ceilings until it reached the very ground Harry and Malfoy were standing on. Amazed, Harry lifted his foot and saw the plushy moss beneath, as if it had simply grown up out of the ground.

“Calm down,” instructed Malfoy. “That’s not even the main event.”

He watched the middle of the far wall again, determined to see firsthand what would emerge next. Instead, another motion caught his eye. Hundreds of little flying insects were coming out of the tips of the stalactites; one landed on Malfoy’s forearm and Harry instinctively brushed it off even though it was only a dragonfly. Malfoy’s skin was warm, and Harry was again distracted as he thought about touching Malfoy’s hand and caressing his arm, tracing the outline of Malfoy’s Dark Mark…

His fantasy was lost as Malfoy shoved him; Harry stumbled but looked down to the muddy pond where Malfoy was frantically pointing. He seemed to be really excited about this part.

Before their very eyes, the water cleared and became an underwater haven, complete with several varieties of tiny fish species, starfish, and coral. There was a tiny castle there that vaguely resembled the Malfoy Manor, and Harry couldn’t help but wonder if Malfoy had placed it there himself. Out of the castle came two long, scaly water dragons, one blue and the other green. The dragons shone brightly in the light, and Harry could pick out each of their individual scales, even from high above the pond. Malfoy was absolutely enchanted with them; Harry watched as he admired the playing dragons.

Wings suddenly sprouted from each tiny dragon’s back, and they flew into the air, tussling with each other and spinning in circles. Harry and Malfoy stood entranced as the dragons came closer and closer to them before suddenly changing course and chasing each other around the cave.

The gloomy atmosphere of only minutes before was completely changed; instead of being dank, dark, and rather smelly, the cave was lit up with an almost mythical glow by the luminous green moss as the dragonflies buzzed around the room, dodging the lively sea dragons. But it was over as quickly as it had started. Far before Harry was ready, the fairy-tale moment ended: the moss slowly sank back into the walls and ground, the dragonflies were sucked back into the stalactites, and the water slowly grew murky again as the sea dragons crashed into the surface and quickly disappeared beneath.

Harry and Malfoy were the only magical creatures left in the cave, and Harry was suddenly uncomfortably as Malfoy slowly met his eyes.

“Well, Potter? What did you think?”

“It was incredible,” Harry answered honestly. They shared a silent moment basking in the afterglow of the magic, where Harry reflected on how it would have been an utterly perfect moment if he had just leaned over, put an arm around Malfoy’s shoulders, and kissed him before everything went back to normal. Malfoy showed no signs of saying anything, so Harry continued, “But I’m still not convinced that it counts, as I’ve never been in this cave before.”

“Rules are more like flexible guidelines,” said Malfoy dismissively. “We went through Knockturn Alley, which I know you’ve been to before, and you’ve also been in plenty of caves. I say that it counts.”

“Alright, fine,” said Harry, checking his watch. “Now’s the part where you take me out to that fancy restaurant, right Malfoy? It’s still ridiculously early and I’m starving.”

Malfoy laughed. “Like it was any easier for me to get up, Potter. I can’t even make it to Hogwarts by eight, and you think that you’re on the only one who had it rough being ready before six?”

“Malfoy, I wouldn’t care if you make me get out by five next Saturday if you just buy me some bloody _food_.”

“Potter, I do hope you know I’ll hold you to that, right?” smirked Malfoy.

“I’m counting on it,” said Potter, levelly meeting Malfoy’s eyes.

“Now I’m convinced that you do want to make me suffer,” groaned Malfoy. He walked forward and proffered his arm to Harry again. “Your chariot awaits, madam.”

Harry rolled his eyes and walked forward to grasp tightly to Malfoy for their Apparation to another mysterious destination.

To his surprise, Malfoy chose a quiet but cozy muggle café somewhere nearby. After Harry regained his balance, Malfoy didn’t let go of his arm. Instead, he tugged Harry towards the front door, saying “They have the best French toast here, Potter. You’ll love it. It comes with cinnamon sugar and fresh orange slices, and you can get a huge side order of potatoes and scrambled eggs.”

“I never would have pegged you for a breakfast person,” said Harry thoughtfully as Malfoy continued to drag him across the parking lot. “I imagined you nursing a cup of coffee while I ate myself into oblivion.”

Malfoy laughed again, and Harry was delighted with the sound. “As if, Potter. Breakfast is my favorite meal of the day, and I’ll be matching you bite for bite.”

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The week was creeping by slower than Draco could reasonably handle. He and Potter had completed several more renovation projects at Hogwarts, and his community service hours were racking up faster than he could have ever possibly imagined (probably because Potter saw fit to keep them there from eight to eight. Every. Single. Day) but he desperately wanted to get Potter alone again. They were too tired to even grab dinner after Potter finally let them call it quits each night, and so Draco would always return back to the Manor alone.

Potter was in his element when he was working on the restoration, which made him all the more attractive and tantalizing to Draco. He appreciated a confident man, and while Potter did not overtly swagger around in everyday life, with a clear objective at hand Potter would take on the stance of a natural leader. Under his forceful presence and fierce approval of Draco, conditions had improved at Hogwarts. Though Draco did not like being separated from Potter, there were times when Potter would pair him up with the students who were more tolerant and forgiving. After a series of genuine apologies, Draco found himself with a particularly strong acquaintance – he wasn’t quite comfortable enough to use the word _friend_ yet – in Neville Longbottom. Oddly enough, he found himself enjoying the company of the once-meek Gryffindor. As his and Neville’s relationship blossomed, Draco soon found himself back in the good graces of more and more students, and was doing his best to not think of ways he might exploit those relationships during eighth year. Potter would have his ass.

Finally, it was Friday. Draco was eager for quitting time, because he had to go home and get to sleep in preparation for his and Potter’s Saturday expedition. He was utterly tempted to make Potter arrive at the Manor by five but the thought of wrenching himself out of bed without a proper caffeine fix was daunting. Also, he didn’t want to snap at Potter as much as he did last Saturday. Potter hadn’t said anything, but Draco knew that his moodiness had put a bit of a damper on things.

There was another motivation for Draco’s excitement over seeing Potter on Saturday. He felt like they had spent enough time getting to know each other now and wanted to try and move things forward. If Potter’s lingering glances and the fond looks he would have on his face upon seeing Draco were any indication, he felt much the same way.

Potter (predictably) kept them there until eight as usual, and Draco told him to be at the Manor by nine sharp tomorrow. He waved off Potter’s smirk over him not sticking to the aforementioned five in the morning, but wasn’t overly concerned with not following through on it. There were other things Draco felt much more compelled to attend to.

He sprang out of bed the next morning at eight, wanting to use the next hour wisely in preparation for Potter’s visit. Potter didn’t know it, but destination number two was Malfoy Manor itself. Draco knew he could convince Potter to give his home a second chance after seeing what Draco had in store for him later that morning. After brushing his teeth and then sinking into the bathtub, Draco told himself that he would only take fifteen minutes for a relaxing soak.

A half an hour later, he woke up to “Master Draco? Master Draco? Mr. Harry Potter is being here, sir! He is eating biscuits in the sitting room, sir!” Tipsy apparated away, and then Draco was treated to the sound of the door opening and footsteps walking in. Shaking the sleep out of his eyes, Draco groaned.

“Potter, how is it that you’re always managing to walk in on me when I’m bathing? I swear that you’re trying to see me naked.” Draco snuck a glance at Potter and saw his face flush heavily. “Oh, just sit down. It’s not like you can see anything anyway.” The water was murky with soap, and Draco was thankful that he’d already washed up before falling asleep.

“So, Malfoy,” said Potter, having recovered his composure. “What’s the plan for today?”

“You’re looking at it, Potter,” said Draco lazily. He waved a hand around the bathroom and said, “Well? Why aren’t you getting in already?”

Potter’s face was priceless. Draco allowed a minute to go by before he burst out laughing and almost knocked the water over the side of the tub. “Ah, Potter. You should have seen your face. But we really will be at the Manor today.”

There was an audible sigh from Potter, and Draco couldn’t help but be just a little disappointed. “Don’t you want to see the Manor?”

Clearly uncomfortable, Potter murmured, “Well, I wasn’t here before under the best of circumstances –”

“Exactly,” broke in Draco, gesturing with his loofah. “So now you can see a different side of the Manor. I grew up here, you know.”

Potter still seemed at a loss for words. Draco pointed at the door, “Go on, Potter. Escort yourself back to the biscuits and I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

Without another word Potter saw himself out. Draco stood up as soon as the door closed, grabbing his robe from the hook on the wall. Now he felt extra pressure to change the memories of the Manor for Potter; Draco wasn’t ever going to be content if he knew that the other man dreaded coming over to visit his bloody house.

He slipped into the most casual clothes anyone would ever see him wear, a pair of loose fitting gray slacks and a green shirt, before quickly styling his hair and refreshing his breath. It simply wouldn’t do to be talking to Potter with morning breath.

Potter was rigidly sitting in an armchair downstairs, taking small bites of the chocolate biscuits Tipsy had graciously provided. She’d also indulged Potter in his mad taste for morning pumpkin juice. Draco walked over to him, deciding in the spur of the moment that he was going to try and put Potter at ease. “Potter,” he said, clapping down his left hand on Potter’s shoulder. “Let me have one of your biscuits.”

Somehow, Draco’s touch seemed to sooth Potter, exactly as he hoped it would. “The chocolate ones are the best,” Potter said, handing one to Draco.

“Tipsy was always the best cook in the house,” Draco said mildly, lifting his left leg so that he could perch on the arm of Potter’s chair. “She always made me my favorite dinner whenever Father was, er, working late.”

Potter reached up with his right hand to touch Draco’s hand, the one that was still resting on his shoulder. “Which was?"

“My favorite dinner?”

“Yes, Malfoy,” said Harry exasperatedly. “I can’t imagine you liking anything better than the cinnamon French toast we had last Saturday.”

Draco laughed. “That’s my favorite breakfast food, Potter.”

“Do you have a favorite lunch food and a dinner food too?”

“Of course.” Draco turned his head down to meet Potter’s eyes and grinned. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“No, Malfoy,” said Potter. “I only have one favorite food, just like everyone else I know. So tell me then, what are your three favorite foods? Or should I say courses?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “They’re more like dishes, not courses, you plebian. You already know my favorite breakfast food, but the best lunch ever is a four-cheese grilled cheese sandwich with a hot bowl of tomato soup. And my favorite dinner is steak and mashed potatoes with key lime pie.”

Potter laughed. “That’s so normal. I was expecting you to say something like ‘salmon and white wine’ or ‘roasted eggplant and zucchini medley.’ Never in a million years would I have guessed that your favorite foods are mashed potatoes and grilled cheese toasties.”

Draco gave Potter an injured look. “Speak for yourself, Potter. I’ll have you know that all of my favorite foods can be served at the grandest of occasions, if one knows the proper herbs to garnish them with and the best plating methods to use.”

“And you would know this how?” asked Potter.

“Because when I turned ten, I insisted on having Tipsy prepare all my favorite foods for the miserable fancy parties I was forced to attend. Mother and Father weren’t able to get her to change the menu, no matter what they tried. They did manage to get her to dress the food up to make it presentable though,” Draco said with an evil smile.

Potter roared with laughter. When he finally calmed down, he pushed up out of the chair and said, “Come on, you. I want to see some more of this sprawling Manor you call home.”

Draco figured that his smile was a mile wide, but couldn’t help it when he saw the genuine enthusiasm and eagerness on Potter’s face. He wasn’t pretending just to be nice to Draco; he really wanted to hear about Draco’s childhood and favorite places he had growing up.

“After you, Potter,” he said, sweeping his hand towards the side door that led to the music room, greenroom, and several of Draco’s favorite secret passages.

They toured the house for at least two hours, sliding around the freshly polished ballroom floors in their socks and riding the bannisters from the top of the stairs to the floor just like royalty did in fairy-tales. Draco raced Potter down the hallways, and beat him by a mile by ducking through several different passages. He showed Potter all of them after Potter demanded to know how Draco had gotten around so fast, pointing out specific books or portraits that acted as entrances. Potter was impressed with Draco’s bedroom, not because it was so lavish, but because it seemed to represent him perfectly. Draco had put a lot of work into redecorating after he and Mother were sentenced to complete their community service hours.

After they completed their exhausting tour of the Manor, Tipsy brought them fresh pumpkin juice – per Potter’s request – and they went outside so Draco could show Potter the grounds. They spent another hour exploring everything from the duck pond to the apple trees to the vegetable gardens, which Potter loved. He went in and picked all the ripe fruits and vegetables, putting them into a wicker basket for Tipsy to carry up to the house. After some coaxing, Draco went and helped him. Potter also had an especially good time stalking the white peacocks across the Manor's sprawling meadows, long grasses poking him through the softer spots in his trainers while Draco laughed himself silly at the sight of Potter speeding around and often falling down.

Last of all, Draco showed Potter his favorite spot in the Manor: the butterfly garden. Mother had decorated it especially to her taste, taking Draco’s views into consideration as well as he got older and spent more time there with her. There were tall grasses surrounding the weaving, brick path, with magic lights overhead and benches placed at the most scenic areas. Mother planted the sweet pink, red, and white roses when Draco was little, but each year after that they would together introduce a new type of flower into the garden and nurture it so that it would return again each year. Last year, they’d planted tulips, and this year, lily of the valley.

Potter looked around with wide eyes. “Wow, Malfoy. Is this another one of your mother’s gardens?”

“Actually, it’s part mine too,” Draco said. “I help plant and take care of the flowers.”

"Really? You like gardening?”

“Yes, Potter. It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?”

“But to maintain that beauty, you have to get dirty. The Hogwarts renovations have showed me just how much you like doing hard work.”

“Well, maybe I like my garden more than I like Hogwarts.”

Potter’s eyes opened wide for a moment, like he was in disbelief, but then he seemed to consider Draco again and understand. He nodded. “Well, Malfoy. You’ve done really well here. I’ve never been in a garden as beautiful as this one.”

Draco walked with Potter around the winding path, taking in the roses, lilies, and tulips as well as the more dramatic sunflowers and draping wisterias. They sat in the shade of the lone willow tree, watching the wind softly blow the tall grass from side to side. Draco could not remember feeling so at ease in years; possibly since before he started at Hogwarts. Theirs was a relaxed companionship, but still Draco could feel the chemistry between them. He longed to reach out and take Potter’s hand, but the time still didn’t feel right yet.

“Malfoy,” said Potter suddenly. “You called it the butterfly garden, but I hardly saw any butterflies.”

Draco smiled sleepily, having snagged Potter’s sweatshirt a few minutes earlier and rolled it up to make a pillow. “Of course there are butterflies, Potter. But we can see them later; I want to take a nap.”

“No, come on, Malfoy,” said Potter, jumping to his feet and yanking up on Draco’s hand. “Really, I can’t say I saw the butterfly garden but not the butterflies because my lazy tour guide decided to take a nap.”

He was too tired to think of a proper retort and instead led Potter to the far side of the garden to where properly maintained Malfoy property was taken over by wild lavender fields. They’d cut a few pathways in-between the wild stalks, but otherwise left the lavender alone. After working in the garden, Draco would often come out to the lavender fields and watch the hundreds of butterflies. He heard a sharp intake of breath as Potter saw them. It was a while before Potter could form a sentence.

“Malfoy, this is amazing. Why didn’t you bring me out here first?”

“You’ve heard the expression ‘save the best for last,’ haven’t you?”

They stood together for a long moment, watching pure, white butterflies flutter around the lavender stalks, hovering in the air before taking flight again. Slowly Potter started walking down one of the cut paths to stand among the lavender and the butterflies. Draco followed him, admiring how well Potter seemed to fit in with his world – at least, the outdoor one.

Potter spread his arms and waited patiently, something Draco thought he would never be able to do, until the butterflies started landing on him. He laughed out of pure joy, and Draco thought that his heart might burst from the very sight of it. Potter’s eyes landed on him next, and then Potter said, “You’ve heard of the custom that muggles have adopted from butterflies, right?”

“No, of course not,” said Draco, wondering what Potter could possibly be talking about.

“It’s called butterfly kissing,” called Potter, arms still acting as butterfly landings. His mouth must have dropped open a little bit, because Potter continued, “Muggles put their faces really close together, line up their eyes, and then blink really fast so their eyelashes touch.”

“I’ve heard of sillier things that muggles do,” said Draco, wishing desperately that Potter would ask to butterfly kiss him.

Potter laughed. “I’m sure you have. I know you probably think that this is pretty silly too, but I never got to try it as a kid, and I honestly couldn’t think of a more fitting place…”

“You want to try it?” asked Draco, mouth instantly going dry.

“Why not?” said Potter easily. He put his arms down and walked over to Draco questioningly.

Suddenly very nervous, Draco nodded yes and then Potter gently put a hand on his right shoulder, stepping very close so that they were only scant inches apart. Draco thought to remove Potter’s glasses and then tilted his face downwards an inch or so, as Potter was just a little shorter. Just as Draco thought they would never touch, Potter leaned so close that his lips nearly touched Draco’s. Instead, he felt a light rustling on his eyelashes, and thought it would be prudent to at least move his a little bit so that Potter didn’t think he was standing there fantasizing about kissing him.

The butterflies seemed to have traveled from the lavender fields to the inside of Draco’s stomach, because even as he butterfly kissed Potter, they weren’t going away. After a minute or so, Potter started to lean back, but without thinking Draco slipped an arm behind Potter’s back and pulled him closer, unwilling to let go.

It must have been the cue Potter was waiting for, because suddenly he closed the last inch between them and covered Draco’s mouth with his own. Magically, the butterflies in Draco’s stomach went away. Potter’s lips were soft, warm, and plump, and no one Draco had ever kissed before made him feel the way Potter did. They kissed chastely, sweetly for a while longer, and almost by telepathy deepened the kiss at the exact same time. Draco was so aroused by Potter and could feel his hard length pressing against his own. He normally would have felt at least a little embarrassed by this, but Potter was just as affected as he was – this became obvious when Draco nipped Potter’s bottom lip and he groaned into Draco’s mouth. It was getting hard to stop; Draco wanted Potter everywhere, having dreamed and fantasized about having sex with him for weeks now. He went to slip his hand under Potter’s shirt, but somehow Potter’s hand left Draco’s face and grabbed his hand before he could touch Potter’s stomach.

“Malfoy, we should–” Potter managed to say before Draco took his lips in another kiss. He deepened his strokes and made them rougher to demand Potter’s attention and not let him leave. Finally, Draco pulled back a little so that he and Potter could breathe. Neither of them said anything for a long while, standing in each other’s embrace, as Potter gently stroked Draco’s hair. After a while, Draco gave in and nuzzled into the crook of Potter’s neck. Damn it if he didn’t actually like the way Potter petted and caressed him; it almost seemed like a gesture of love.

They stayed out there another half an hour until the sun went down. Draco wasn’t sure how Potter would react when they left the butterfly garden and came back to reality, but as they walked down the path back to the Manor, Potter stretched out his hand towards Draco with a big smile on his face. Unconsciously returning the smile, Draco reached out and took Potter’s hand.

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	4. Maturation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco has a difficult conversation with Harry, who's forced to choose between Draco and his friends.

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The next month flew by for Draco, not the least because Potter insisted that they continue to work twelve hours a day. Draco was even more willing to stay late with him, though, especially after that day in the butterfly garden. Everyone else buggered off around five in the afternoon at the latest and Draco found himself wishing they’d leave even earlier so he could have more private time alone with Potter. They would kiss in the unstable Hogwarts corridors, rubbing dirt all over each other’s bodies and hair in their haste to touch one another. Draco wanted Potter in every way possible, but for some reason Potter was insisting that they take things slowly. This declaration had been made after Draco tried to push things farther one day; Potter had somehow summoned the self-control to slowly pull Draco’s hand away from his trousers, where he was trying to undo Potter’s zip, and politely ask Draco to stop rushing. They would have to have some sort of sex talk, Draco supposed, and sooner rather than later. If Potter was going to make him wait, he at least wanted to know why.

Hogwarts would be re-opening in a couple months, and Draco was nervous. The Minister had sent him an official notification stating that he was required to finish out his education in order to keep his pardon. He’d been expecting to go back (and rather longing to, if he was honest with himself) but a lot of his Slytherin classmates were definitely not going to return. It simply wouldn’t be the same – but maybe that wouldn’t be a bad thing. If he and Potter continued to grow closer, it could turn into one of the best school years Draco’d ever had.

He continued transfiguring some weird toys (Potter called them “Lincoln Logs”) into desks, taking special care to curve the lumbar support specifically to the curvature of his back. Some comfort sure would be nice for a change; Draco took a particular pleasure in vanishing the remains of the horrible stools in the Potions classroom that Snape had refused to let anyone touch. The man was his godfather, but that didn’t make him a saint. Still, Draco appreciated everything his former Professor had done for the war effort. Thankfully, though, Snape wasn’t around anymore to witness the budding relationship between him and Potter. That would have ended badly for all parties involved.

Draco finished the last desk, taking care to set a charm on each one that would cause anyone who tried to stick chewing gum to the bottom of it to very quickly grow a unibrow. That would deter most, if not all, miscreants. Even worse than his first year detention into the Forbidden Forest had been the one where Filch made him scrape off gum – without magic – for three hours straight. Draco was determined to make it to each classroom and cast the same charm on all of the desks; this way, Potter could never say that he didn’t have a lasting impact on the renovated castle.

“Malfoy!” Potter’s voice interrupted him out of his reverie. “Hey, are you almost ready to – What _have_ you done to those desks?” He pointed at the Draco’s Transfigured desks. There was one other modification as well: the actual back of the chair rotated, allowing the student to slump, slouch, and even put their knees up into a more comfortable position.

“Why not be comfortable, Potter?” Draco would definitely be slouching away throughout all of his classes. Even while on thin ice, he was prepared to risk a bit of wrath to not have his back hurting for once.

Potter sighed, sitting down to try one out. He swirled the back of the chair, which more of resembled a semi-circle instead of a hardback traditional desk, off to the side and hoisted his knees up. “You know, you made them too comfortable. I swear, McGonagall’s going to have your head for making all of her students fall asleep during lecture.”

“She’ll never have to know it was me,” Draco said slyly. “You won’t tell, will you, Potter?”

“Of course not,” Potter replied. He held his arms out, and Draco went over to slide into them. Potter felt warm and wonderful, like a hot bath, and Draco savored the soft touch of Potter’s lips kissing his cheek. They stayed like that for a few minutes, with Draco hunched over the slumping Potter in the spinny chair as Potter gently stroked Draco’s hair.

“Potter,” said Draco, before the moment could end. “I wanted to uh, ask you why we don’t, er –” It was very rare for Draco to struggle with his words. He wasn’t uncomfortable to initiate a sex talk (well, maybe he was a little uncomfortable) but he _was_ still terrified of being rejected by Potter.

Potter sighed again, letting go of Draco and making motions to get up. “This is about sex, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Draco crisply, trying not to betray his nervousness. “Why are we moving at the speed of an average glacier, Potter?”

“Walk with me, Malfoy.” To Draco’s relief, Potter reached out and took his hand. They exited the classroom and started towards the Room of Requirement. There was a silent pact between the two not to ever enter the Room again, for fear of what they might find, but yesterday it was inevitable. Fortunately, it seemed to have been mysteriously restored to its previous condition.

Draco and Potter continued on in silence, their footsteps loudly echoing in the empty halls. There was never enough time in the day, it seemed, at least until there was an awkward conversation to be had.

“There’s a couple reasons,” Potter started after they’d reached the Room and safely escorted themselves inside. “First, I’ve never been with anyone in that way before. I assumed that when I was, it would be with Ginny or some other girl, not my –”

“Your what?” asked Draco, almost dreading the response.

Potter looked like he was trying not to be defensive. “My former arch-rival.” Though Draco was sure his face betrayed some of the hurt welling up inside of him, Potter continued. “Malfoy, we hated each other for seven years. I know we’ve gotten closer, but it’s really only been a couple of months.”

“So you don’t trust me,” said Draco, anger and frustration taking precedent over hurt and heartbreak. “You don’t want me because you think I have some elaborate ploy to screw you over. It’s okay, Potter, I get it.” He spun on his heel and turned to flee before the tears came and revealed his weakness to Potter yet _again_.

“Wait,” said Potter. “That came out all wrong.”

Ignoring Potter, Draco continued to storm towards the door – at least, as well as anyone could storm in a pair of muggle jeans and tennis shoes. This time, Potter sounded a little desperate. “Wait, Draco. Please. Hear me out.”

He did everything he could to get his emotions under control before facing Potter again. Draco emulated the blank stare he’d once used to fool the Dark Lord. He ought to still remember how to do it – as Potter had so kindly pointed out, they always had stood on opposite sides of everything. If Potter wanted to resurrect old prejudices well then Draco could certainly oblige him.

Their eyes locked, and after a moment Potter softly said, “Draco. I do trust you. But I just don’t think we’re ready for such a big step yet.”

Potter being so gentle and _nice_ was almost worse than him rehashing the past. If he wanted to bring up the times they’d been enemies, Draco had no problem getting mad at Potter and having a proper argument. But when Potter explained (said no) with care and _pity_ in his voice, Draco couldn’t help but feel further away from him than ever. Why did he think in the first place that this relationship would endure, _could_ endure? Even if they did have sex, it was more than likely that Potter would become distant and back to normal when school resumed. Summer was a time for experimentation, not one for people to truly fall in love.

“Thank you for explaining, Potter,” Draco said dismissively. “Now we can both go home and get some sleep.”

“Malfoy…”

“See you tomorrow, Potter, at the usual o’800 hours.” He slipped back into using military time, which was both expected and required when in the employ of the Dark Lord. Pretending he had robes swishing elegantly at his heels, Draco held his head high and left the Room of Requirement. He did not look back at Potter, who was surely standing there with a bewildered look on his face. Merlin, sometimes it was like dating Weasley. If he was honest, though, Draco wasn’t even sure if he and Potter were technically dating anymore. There were no words said to indicate otherwise, but at least to Draco it felt like something had split between them.

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Harry watched Malfoy go, looking as proud and arrogant as always when they attended Hogwarts before the War. It wasn’t fair to think of him that way, but Harry was pretty fed up after the fight they’d just had. It was really stupid to argue that way, plus, why would Malfoy just automatically assume that he was untrustworthy? Harry had been trying to convey that they shouldn’t sleep together yet both because the relationship was still too new and he wasn’t sure whether or not it was going to last past the summer. Well, that one was certainly up in the air. This was exactly why he’d been right to wait: one fight and Malfoy would just walk away from everything. Then they’d both be brokenhearted and alone. Harry felt both right now, but at least he hadn’t given the git his virginity; from what he’d heard, the heartbreak was always worse after you’d had sex with the person.

Alright, maybe Harry could have explained to Malfoy a bit more clearly. But he hadn’t exactly waited around to let Harry have a fair shot, had he? Malfoy clearly already knew exactly what Harry was going to say about waiting to have sex and was just humoring him as he blundered through his reasoning.

“Harry, mate! Wait up!” Ron called from down the corridor. He and Hermione scurried into view, covered with dirt and grime.

“What are you lot doing here so late?” asked Harry. He was trying to keep the irritation out of his voice, but it was totally a lost cause.

“We were just cleaning up the area near the Headmistress’s office,” said Hermione, pulling spiderwebs out of her bushy hair. “Why are you here so late, Harry?”

“I always stay late with Malfoy,” said Harry reluctantly. “We usually bugger off around eight.”

“It’s quarter to nine now,” said Ron, checking his watch. “What could you and the Ferret have to chat about, anyway?”

“Yeah, Harry,” chastised Hermione. “I thought you were over your saving people complex. I’m not sure Malfoy is a good step away from that.”

“I’m beginning to wonder if you’re right,” sighed Harry. He thought back to Malfoy’s wide smiles and soft lips and wondered if they were worth it after all. There were a lot of conflicting emotions inside of him, but most prominent amongst them was the sneaking suspicion that nothing he ever did would be good enough for the blonde man.

“You’re not busy tomorrow, right Harry?” asked Ron. “We’re heading over to Diagon Alley tomorrow; George’s revealing a new product and promised us free samples.”

Harry hesitated. Tomorrow was supposed to be his third mystery outing with Malfoy. But after their falling-out tonight, he doubted that Malfoy was still planning anything.

“Sounds great,” he said, pasting on a fake smile. “Meet you outside Fortescue’s at nine?”

“Perfect,” said Hermione, smiling. “It’s just like old times again – I swear, Harry, since everything ended we’ve simply not spent enough time together.”

Unable to say anything in return, he smiled back at her, hoping more effort wouldn’t be required to placate her.

“Well, see you tomorrow, mate,” said Ron, effectively putting an end to the conversation. He placed his hand on the small of Hermione’s back and started leading her towards the Entrance Hall.

Harry went home alone, sad and alone. He didn’t remember Malfoy saying that they should meet at o’800 hours – and certainly wasn’t going to impose after their fight.

Even so, the next morning Harry woke up entirely too early. He thought about the shower at Malfoy’s house and how he always invaded Malfoy’s privacy, partially because the blonde git wouldn’t see him otherwise and partially because he really wanted to talk to Malfoy. Maybe that’s why Malfoy wanted to have sex with him so desperately – maybe he’d been giving off the wrong kind of signal.

He sat in bed, reflecting again on their conversation from the night before. It wasn’t that Harry didn’t want to have sex with Malfoy. The excuse he’d given about Ginny and women had been simply that, an excuse. However, the bit about not being sure if their relationship would last past summer was the hard and fast truth. Harry wanted his relationship with Malfoy to endure but he wasn’t sure if Malfoy had similar expectations. It was probably too late to ask him now, but damn it, Harry couldn’t go through the day like this.

It was just past eight now, but Harry hadn’t dressed or cleaned up at all. Well, Malfoy could deal with his appearance _au natural_. Throwing off his covers, he Apparated into the main sitting room of Malfoy Manor. The wards were still keyed to let him through, so Harry took that as a good sign.

“Potter!” He turned around in time to see a shock and an emotion he couldn’t identify flash over Malfoy’s face. He recovered himself quickly, but Harry could tell that he was still uncomfortable because a bit of tea splooshed over the edge of the cup and into the matching saucer he was holding in the opposite hand.

“Hi, Malfoy,” Harry said warily. He wanted to be nice and felt motivated to be especially because he wasn’t sure where they stood, but wasn’t thrilled about possibly being treated to the Slytherin Ice Prince act again.

Malfoy gingerly set the cup and saucer down on the tiny round table Harry always biscuits at. “I wasn’t sure you were coming,” he said evenly.

“I’m not,” Harry said. Immediately after saying it he realized how awful it would sound to Malfoy. “Last night I ran into Ron and Hermione after you left and they asked me to go out this morning. I totally forgot that we had plans.”

“Why are you here then?” Malfoy looked away from Harry and stared intently at his teacup as if willing it to burst into flames.

Harry sighed and ran his hands through his hair; of course Malfoy wouldn’t make it easy for him. “Can I sit down?”

“Suit yourself.”

He perched on the edge of Malfoy’s favorite armchair, hoping that the blonde would meet his eyes. No such luck. “I’m not comfortable with the way we left things last night.”

“Nor am I, Potter.”

That was honestly more than Harry had been expecting. Since they’d been fighting about sex, Malfoy went from the more open and friendly self he’d adopted back to moody and brooding.

“Right, then. Can we talk for real?” He was afraid of pushing Malfoy away again, but hell if they weren’t going to be able to get through this without being honest.

“Yes,” said Malfoy simply. He leaned forward on the settee, crossing his legs and placing his hands on top. “Where do you want to start?”

Harry was burning with curiosity over a few things, but had to force himself not to jump down Malfoy’s throat. They’d have to ease into this if he didn’t want to scare the blonde off again.

“What did I say before that made you the most upset?” Harry asked. It might not have been the gentlest question to start with, but it was a lot better than some of the other ones on the tip of his tongue.

“You insinuated that you did not want to have sex with me because we’ve been rivals for significantly more time than we’ve been friends,” recited Malfoy. He stared into Harry’s eyes, challenging him to say differently.

“I said that because I’m afraid we’ll slip back into old habits,” said Harry, trying to get Malfoy to understand. “They die hard, or so I’m told.”

“What does that have to do with us having sex?”

“I don’t want to have sex with you and then go back to fighting all the time!” Harry shouted. So much for calm and collected.

Malfoy didn’t even flinch. “Why would we start fighting, Potter? Under ordinary circumstances, that is.”

“Because I’m not sure if you really want this,” Harry said. He rubbed both of his hands on his face before carding them through his hair. “If you want us, I mean. You’re so focused on the physical aspect of our relationship.”

“Of course I want this,” said Malfoy, looking offended for the first time. “Why else would I bother, Potter?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said. “Fine, then. Riddle me this – why do you want sex so badly?”

To his surprise, Malfoy flushed. He mussed his perfect blonde hair before answering. “I can’t answer that. Why does anyone want to have sex?”

“Is it just about pleasure for you, Malfoy?” asked Harry. He was starting to have a sneaking suspicion that there was something more to it.

“No,” Malfoy admitted, unwilling to meet Harry’s eyes any longer.

“Well, what it is then?”

“Appreciate, would you Potter, that this isn’t easy for me to explain!” snapped Malfoy. “I like being touched. I suppose it makes me feel closer to you.”

A lightbulb went off in Harry’s brain, and he felt so stupid for not understanding in the first place. “You’re craving intimacy.”

There was no answer from Malfoy immediately, but Harry stood up and went to sit next to him on the settee, putting his right arm around Malfoy’s shoulders. Finally, Malfoy met Harry’s eyes and whispered “Yes.”

“Oh, Malfoy,” Harry’s heart went out to his boyfriend. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize before. I wish you would have told me.”

“Harry, I could have just as easily told you.”

“Even so.”

“I thought that since you didn’t want sex, you weren’t ready to get closer to me.”

“No, Malfoy. I very much want to get closer to you, but I don’t think that sex is the way to do that. I was thinking that would happen after we get to know each other better.”

Malfoy studied Harry for a moment, and out of the blue leaned in and kissed him passionately. Harry was conscious of the fact that he’d essentially just rolled out of bed though, and wasn’t eager to deepen the kiss. Malfoy picked up on Harry’s reluctance and demanded, “Are we going back to butterfly kisses now?”

“No, but I didn’t brush my teeth yet today.”

“Like I really care. Potter, your hygiene is questionable at the best of times.”

Harry laughed and pulled Malfoy in for the openmouthed kiss they’d both been longing for. How could he have ever thought Malfoy unworthy his efforts? There was something about the blonde, physical appearance aside, which drew Harry in. Maybe it was the prickly personality Harry had always known combined with the softer, sweeter side of Malfoy that he was just starting to get used to.

After a moment, Malfoy pulled away and said, “I guess I see your point; you really do need to get cleaned up, Potter.”

“Your wish is my command,” Harry said, smiling. He tentatively leaned forward with his arms slightly open, and Malfoy slid between them, clutching Harry as if he was never going to get another chance to hug him again.

“Draco,” whispered Harry, ghosting his fingers through Malfoy’s hair, “We can have intimacy without sex, I promise.”

There was no verbal response, but Harry felt Malfoy’s fingers weave through his hair and hold fast. “Are we alright?” he whispered in Malfoy’s ear.

“We are,” Malfoy breathed back. “I wish you could stay for breakfast, at least, but your friends are expecting you soon.”

Harry snapped back as if he’d been burned. “What time is it!” he gasped, searching frantically for his want to cast a Tempus Charm. Malfoy beat him to it, simply looking at his wristwatch.

“It’s a quarter to nine,” he said, calmly retrieving the tea he’d abandoned earlier. “And I suggest you spend the time getting yourself properly cleaned up.”

“Shit,” Harry said, “I really wanted to spend the day with you, too. Reckon I did it to myself though.”

“Agreed,” said Malfoy. “I seriously wonder what Granger and the Weasel were doing at Hogwarts so late last night. We’ve never run into them before.”

“You know,” said Harry. “Why don’t you just come with us? I can shower here, and maybe borrow some clothes?”

Malfoy was looking at him as if he’d grown an extra head. “You think it’s safe for me to spend the day with those two?”

“I mean, it’ll definitely be interesting,” Harry smirked.

“Fine, Potter, I’m sure I can find something suitable for you in my closet. Tipsy!” he summoned the elf. “Help Potter work the shower and give him a set timer – we wouldn’t want to keep Granger and Weasley waiting.”

“Thanks, Draco,” Harry said, meeting Malfoy’s eyes. This meant a lot that Malfoy was willing to spend the day doing god knows what with Harry’s best friends, who admittedly were not Malfoy’s biggest fans.

“Don’t worry about it, Potter,” said Malfoy breezily. “I’d be much more concerned about what I was going to pick out for you to wear.”

Even with the evil smile that was currently adorning Malfoy’s face, Harry tried to hope for the best.

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It was so much fun to tease Potter. Draco had no intention of letting his boyfriend go out of the house wearing low-quality clothing, and he especially wouldn’t let him look anything less than impeccable. Draco decided that, at least for today, he had control over everything about Potter’s appearance except for his hair. That was absolutely a lost cause.

Draco chose a soft gray cashmere sweater for Potter, to match the red one he’d daringly chosen for himself earlier that morning, and a pair of black fitted trousers that had always been just a little bit short on him. They seemed to wear the same shoe size, so Draco reluctantly pulled out one of his favorite pairs of black boots to let Harry borrow. He’d give him hell, though, if Potter scuffed them up or stomped through mud puddles in them. After leaving everything in the room adjoined to the bathroom Potter was currently occupying, Draco made his way back down to the living room.

After a while, he finally stopped pacing and sat down on the settee. It was tempting to close his eyes and slid into oblivion for a few moments (he’d hardly gotten any sleep after their fight the night before) but Draco couldn’t keep himself from reflecting over the conversation they’d just had. Humiliating as it was to admit to Harry Potter that he craved _intimacy_ , Draco did actually feel a lot more intimate with the dark haired man. Maybe open and honest conversations had some merit after all. Anyway, Draco knew exactly how terrible Potter had been at Legilimency and Occlumency. If he didn’t tell Potter how he felt or what he needed, there was a better-than-average chance Potter would never figure it out.

Everything he’d told Potter had been true, too. It wasn’t that he didn’t want sex for pleasure as well, but his primary interest was to feel close to his lover. However, Draco was willing to wait as long as Potter wanted, as long as they bonded in other ways. His strong suspicion was that he was falling in love with Potter, but it was going to be a while yet before Draco was ready to admit that to anyone else, especially Potter. He was especially glad that Potter wanted the relationship to continue – he’d never have thought that Potter would opt to go slow so they could get to know one another and establish a higher level of trust. Draco did feel a little bit silly for overreacting the night before, but the thought of apologizing to Potter again was a bit demoralizing.

“Malfoy, do you think we can ask Tipsy for some of those biscuits to eat on the way?” Potter suddenly appeared in the living room, dressed but still toweling off his hair.

“When are you going to have time to eat, Potter? We literally just Apparate and then we’re there.”

“Come on, Malfoy, I’m starving.”

“Oh, alright.” Draco was about to call for Tipsy, but she’d apparently overheard because she showed up with an enormous thermos of pumpkin juice for Potter and a goody bag full of not only biscuits, but fresh banana bread as well.

“Thanks,” Potter said to the elf.

Draco restrained from rolling his eyes as Potter immediately started stuffing his face. “I will be taking you out for a civilized supper tonight, Potter.” He laid a hand on Potter’s shoulders and Disapparated them to Diagon Alley. They spotted the Weasel and Granger right away, hastily making their way over to them.

“Harry!” cried Granger. “Where were you?”

“Yeah, mate,” said the Weasel, “George is going to give all his free samples away before we get there.”

“We’re only a few minutes late,” Harry protested, switching to the banana bread. It had chocolate woven throughout, and was Draco’s favorite. He reached out and snapped a piece off of the end of Potter’s loaf.

Granger and the Weasel noticed him then for the first time. “What’s he doing here, Harry?” snapped the Weasel.

Potter met the Weasel and Granger head on. “He’s here because he’s my boyfriend and I want to spend time with him. Also, it’s high time you met him properly. Malfoy, you remember Ron and Hermione, right?”

“How could I ever forget?” Draco uttered softly. He had to fight to keep his upper lip from curling at the very sight of them.

“But – but – but” the Weasel was sputtering.

“Harry, this was supposed to be about the three of us,” said Granger. “We haven’t been together forever and we wanted to spend some quality time with you. Just you.”

“We can still spend quality time together,” said Potter, trying to diffuse the situation. “But Malfoy can be a part of that too. Right Malfoy?” He glanced at Draco pleadingly. Draco tried to keep from groaning. This was not his idea of a fun day or quality time, but they’d only just made up and he absolutely did not want to fight again anytime soon.

“Of course, Potter,” he said firmly, like all of his convictions were in support of this.

“See?” Potter said. “Let’s get going then, George is waiting.” He grabbed Draco’s hand, to Granger and the Weasel’s utter astonishment, and strode off towards Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes.

“You don’t even call him by his given name!” blurted out Ron, who’d finally recovered his voice.

“We do sometimes,” said Potter.

“In fact, we prefer it this way,” said Draco. As predicted, Granger and the Weasel looked at him as though they were surprised he had the audacity to speak.

“Harry, I don’t think we can do this,” said Granger.

“We definitely can’t,” said the Weasel.

Potter’s eyes narrowed and he glared at both of his supposed best friends. “I thought we were in this for life, all of us together. You’re telling me that because I’m dating a man I have to choose between you and him?”

“It’s not the fact that you’re dating a man, Harry,” said Granger, eyes sparkling with tears. It was rather manipulative if Draco did say so himself.

“No,” said the Weasel, shaking his head. “It’s that you’re dating _Malfoy_ , Harry. He hated us for seven years! He was a bloody _Death Eater_ , for Merlin’s sake!”

“You think I don’t know that?” snapped Potter. He was actually getting angry now – and it had been quite a while since Draco had seen Potter fully riled up. The fight they’d had last night was more delicate; they weren’t actually raging at each other. “Of course I _fucking_ know about Malfoy’s past, Ron! You think it’s never come up before?”

“The only thing that I think has ‘come up,’” shouted the Weasel, making a crude gesture with his finger. Granger grabbed him and made a shushing motion, but he wasn’t done yet. “Is your dick, Harry! The shagging must be so good that you forget who it is you’re dealing with!”

Potter whipped out his wand and was about to hex the Weasel into next week, but Draco stepped in front of him and placed his hands on Potter’s shoulders. Hoping he wasn’t the one about to be hexed instead, Draco said, “Harry, leave it. Either they’ll come around or they won’t. Let’s not let it ruin our day.”

“You’re right, Draco,” Potter breathed. He sheathed his wand again and glared at his friends. “You lot know where to find me when you can respect my choices.”

Draco put out his hand, and Potter took it. Together, they left Granger and the Weasel standing on the cobblestone in Diagon Alley; the Weasel with red blotches all over his face and tears streaming down Granger’s. Potter did not look back.

Draco could see how upset his boyfriend was, and so after they were out of immediate view went to comfort him with a hug.

“You know, Potter,” he said, a glint in his eye. “Maybe we can have outing number three after all. I know this wonderful bookstore in Muggle London. I bet you’ve never even seen some of the cool gadgets they’ve got there.”

“Oh no?” asked Potter, pulling out another piece of Draco’s favorite banana bread and waving it under his nose. “I guess you’ll have to show me then.”

Hand in hand, they turned on the spot as Draco Disapparated them out of Diagon Alley.

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	5. Unification

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco introduces Harry to his favorite hobby, who delights in seeing Draco so excited.

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“Cecilia’s Crazy Books and Nooks” was one of Draco’s favorite places in Muggle London. One of his nannies had taken him there when he was just a boy, and they’d gotten in several memorable trips before Lucius found out and put an end to their fun. Naturally, the nanny had been fired, and though Draco would always claim to his parents that he’d hated going there, secretly he’d always harvested a healthy adoration for the times they’d had. The Apparation point was only a half-mile away, and Draco found himself walking with a bounce in his step in anticipation of seeing the place again. Potter, on the other hand, was slightly falling behind and seemed to have worry lines around his eyes.

“Oi, Potter, you doing okay?” Draco inquired lightly, hoping to put Potter at ease.

Looking up, Potter met Draco’s eyes and spared him a quick smile. “I must look pretty bad, huh? You’re only ever casual when something serious is going on.”

Draco slung an arm around Potter’s shoulders with easy grace. “You always look fantastic, love,” he purred. “Where else would I find another man with just-shagged hair, infallible t-shirts, and superbly fashionable trainers?”

“Hey,” said Potter indignantly. “I don’t have any of those right now.”

“That’s only because I dressed you for once,” said Draco exasperatedly, rolling his eyes. “Believe me; I’m also hoping to make it an everyday thing.”

Potter shoved him then, and Draco caught the glimpse of a real smile on his face. However, it quickly disappeared.

“Out with it, Potter,” Draco said, trying not to sound impatient. “You can’t properly enjoy destination number three if there’s something on your mind.”

Potter stopped then, shifting his weight back and forth. He eyed a small bench at the end of the walk, just outside the store, and walked over to it. Draco followed, gently grabbing Potter’s hand.

For a while, they just sat. The wind harshly blew, ruffling Potter’s hair back into its usual delectable mess, even managing to muss up Draco’s blonde locks. Though he was freezing, Draco said nothing. Potter had patiently been there for him in some of his worst moments, so he’d do what was necessary to return that feeling of love and support.

Eventually, Potter sighed. “This thing with Ron and Hermione just has me on edge. I can’t believe they’re being like this after we went through a bloody _war_ together.”

Draco stayed quiet. Potter likely wouldn’t appreciate his opinions of the Weasel and Granger, no matter how well-founded they were. He squeezed Potter’s hand instead.

For another fifteen minutes or so, they just sat together in solidarity, enjoying the quiet and the fact that neither felt the urge to break the silence. Birds chirped happily in the tree above, but Draco was particularly drawn to the sound of the mourning dove perched on the Muggle telephone wire. He’d always felt strangely comforted by the sound as a child; the Manor grounds were full of doves and their song frequently traveled through his bedroom window. Potter also seemed calmer after spending some time processing the situation.

“Let’s go,” Potter finally said. He stood up and proffered a hand to Draco, who took it and let Potter pull him to his feet.

As Potter went to walk down the path decorated by fairy-lights, Draco quickly reached out and snagged his arm. “Potter,” he said in his most reasonable tone of voice. “Are you sure you’re up for this? We can postpone for another day, if you’d like.”

“Not at all. I mean it, Draco,” said Potter earnestly. “I want to be here with you.” He nearly fluttered his beautifully large green eyes, and Draco couldn’t help but believe him. He definitely had a weak spot for Potter’s eyes.

Acting on impulse, Draco reached out and grabbed Potter’s hand. It was warm and slightly sweaty, which made him smile. Potter was so utterly predictable but that was part of what Draco loved best about him. Shit, did he just think the word ‘love’? He was completely head over heels now, he admitted to himself. And Potter thought he wasn’t interested in making this work…

“Malfoy?” came Potter’s voice. “Earth to Malfoy,” he called in a singsong sort of way.

Draco was pulled out of his reverie. “Yes, yes, Potter,” he grumbled. “Always in a rush. Has anyone ever told you that patience is a virtue?”

“Maybe I just don’t have any virtues,” smiled Potter wickedly, crinkling his eyes at Draco. Yep, he was a goner all right. Potter could ask him to jump off a cliff and he’d probably do it.

“Oh, I know you better than that,” Draco returned, dragging Potter along down the path. Really, even when he was a kid it always took forever to get to the storefront.

Another few paces and they were finally there. Draco looked on with pleasure, his body filling with warmth at the thought of showing Potter another place so dear to his heart. Cecelia’s was so much more than just a simple bookstore; she sold not only texts of all genres and languages (Draco’s favorite had always been the French children’s collection) and maintained an outdoor cafe, she’d turned the entire front of the space into a homey living area with squashy armchairs, classic rocking chairs, and cushions of all shapes and sizes. This is where Cecelia displayed all her wonderful crocheted afghans, stuffed animals, dishcloths, various articles of clothing, and other knickknacks. Draco prayed that Cecelia hadn’t sold all of her adorable lions – Potter would fall all over himself for those.

“Merlin,” breathed Potter next to him. The actual building was strikingly designed, formed into something resembling the stump of an oak tree and complete with knobs and carvings. As a child, Draco thought his babysitter was taking him into a tree out of one of the elf stories he’d been so partial to at the time. Though his father hated the place, Draco had managed to persuade his nanny to buy him an afghan with brightly colored toadstools and fairies embroidered over the dark brown, moss green, and burnt sienna granny squares. He still slept with that afghan to this very day despite his mother’s desire to burn it in Manor’s main fireplace.

Draco snuck a peek at Potter. He looked absolutely enthralled with the aesthetics of Cecelia’s, continually returning his vision back to the small koi pond set away from the entrance.

“Like what you see, Potter?” Draco queried, trying not to grip Potter’s hand more tightly in anticipation.

“This is wonderful,” Potter exclaimed, his face lit up with a boyish joy. “And I haven’t even seen what’s inside yet,” he smirked, staring at Draco.

Time to rectify that issue. “Well, come on then,” Draco chuckled, stepping onto the front porch to open the door for them. The handle was formed from a real piece of oak, displaying a few of the circles that indicated the age of the tree.

The warm smell of cinnamon and fresh apple cider wafted onto the porch, causing them both to deeply inhale the aromas. Draco’s eyelids fluttered as he struggled to keep them open. Cecelia’s always had that soothing effect on him, even when he was a young boy.

Potter was first to step through the door, looking around in excitement. “Whoa, Malfoy,” he said. “This is fantastic.”

As Draco predicted, Potter headed right towards the shelf of stuffed amigurumis, cooing loudly over the baby animals.

“Look, Malfoy. It’s a little snake! Merlin, can you imagine how long it must have taken to make one of these stuffed animals?”

“Amigurumis,” Draco corrected automatically.

Potter looked at him as though he’d lost his mind. “Pardon?”

“Amigurumi is a Japanese word,” Draco said, blushing. He fixed his attention on the colorful toys instead of on Potter. “And it’s used to refer to stuffed animals that are knit or crocheted.”

When he had the courage to look over again, Potter had picked up the snake and was gently stroking its back. He turned to make eye contact with Draco. “How did you know that, Malfoy? Hang around much with Muggle grannies?”

 “What? I had a nanny that used to bring me here!” Draco huffed defensively. “And I’ll have you know, Potter, that anyone can pick up a hook and some yarn. Not just _old grannies_.”

Potter patted him lightly on the shoulder, returning the snake back to the shelf. “It’s alright,” he said reasonably. “I reckon that the old grannies will adopt you into their crocheting clubs if you just ask nicely.”

Draco slowly shook his head. Potter was endearingly cute even when he was being impossible. He decided to change the subject. “Did you see the lions, Potter? Those would be more suited to your Gryffindor sensibilities.”

Potter immediately looked to the lions Draco was gesturing towards. “They’re not better quality, but they’re definitely superior to the snakes,” Potter smugly determined. “I’m so getting me and Teddy one of these. Just look at the little fiery mane–”

Draco and Potter had gone to feel the fluffy orange mane at the same time, brushing their fingers in the process. Merlin, this man could make him blush even though they were already together.

Smiling, Potter gently picked up Draco’s frozen fingers and trailed them through the soft fur. “See, Malfoy? A perfect animal.”

“Perhaps it’s perfect for your brazen stubbornness,” said Draco primly. “But not all of us prefer to emulate creatures that act now and think later.”

“You could do with being a little more spontaneous,” Harry responded, giving Draco a sly wink.

Draco never would have noticed how amusing Potter was with his continuous _teasing_ before the war. He opened his mouth to deliver a clever remark that would leave his former rival reeling, but before he got the chance, there was an outburst behind him as someone disbelievingly sputtered his name.

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“Draco? Is that you, young man?” Harry watched, grinning, as an elderly lady with a cane tottered up and smartly rapped Malfoy on the shoulder. She was wearing an eclectic sweater crocheted from different colored squares; one Harry privately thought Luna might have coveted. Maybe he should see if there were any others in the store to give as a birthday present. Before he could follow up on the idea, Malfoy’s reaction immediately drew him out of his thoughts.

“Cecelia!” Malfoy enthused, letting go of his composure for a rare second. Harry watched how his face lit up and his gray eyes shone, feeling a trace of envy for the way Malfoy opened himself up to this woman. “How did you recognize me?”

“Please,” Cecelia said, exaggerating an eye roll. “I could recognize that platinum hair from a mile away. Lord knows the way the crochet group used to fawn over you when you were just a little boy.”

Malfoy blushed just a bit and then seemed to remember his manners. “Harry, come meet Cecelia,” he said, gesturing for Harry to step a bit closer. Doing so, Harry proffered his hand for a shake.

“How lovely to see you,” Cecelia said genuinely, making Harry feel as if he was being X-rayed by her sharp blue eyes. She turned to Malfoy and asked, “How did you meet your – erm –”

“Boyfriend,” Malfoy promptly supplied. “And at school. He was the biggest prat ever until this year.”

“Now, now,” Harry said easily. “Don’t confuse me with yourself, Malfoy.”

Cecelia laughed. “I can see how well matched you are for him,” she said secretively to Harry while Malfoy looked on with an injured expression. “Draco,” Cecelia continued lightly. “Wasn’t it the last time you were here I gave you that crochet lesson?”

“It was,” Malfoy confirmed, his countenance becoming thoughtful. Harry much preferred this look; it almost reminded him of the way Malfoy used to deviously plot against him at school. “We’d just learned how to make a chain, and then you started teaching me the single crochet when I was rushed away by my parents.”

“You have a good memory,” Cecelia praised. “Say, for the sake of old times, why don’t we continue on? I’m sure Harry could catch right up,” she said, smiling at Harry.

Malfoy cast him a quick glance, no doubt wondering if he was worried about pursuing a hobby so suited to “muggle grannies.” Harry was pleased that his opinion was being considered even though he didn’t mind the quick lesson one bit. He gave a quick shoulder shrug as if to say ‘I don’t see why not.’

Beaming, Malfoy accepted Cecelia’s offer. “I must say that I actually want to produce something proper this time,” he sniffed, examining one of the delicate lace doilies decorating the window display. “Before, you contented me with making short rows that ultimately turned into a triangle.”

“It turned into a triangle,” said Cecelia, already hobbling back towards a squashy armchair and an adjacent basket of yarn, “Because you weren’t patient enough to count stitches – it would have become a square, instead.”

“No squares or triangles,” announced Malfoy. “What should I make, Potter?” he asked slyly, glancing at Harry.

“Right, well first let’s see if your counting skills have improved at all,” he joked, following Cecelia. Harry won the other squashy armchair by a split second and looked on with glee as a harrumphing Malfoy settled himself in a rocking chair that was admittedly comfortable, but also very straight backed. It suited him, Harry thought.

Cecelia handed out skeins of yarn – Malfoy chose light silver, while Harry stuck with a bold red – and some small metal hooks before selecting her own materials. “You’ll need to start with a slip knot,” she instructed, demonstrating the technique. Harry’s first attempt ended up actually knotted to his hook, causing Malfoy to give him a superior grin and flout his own perfect slip knot. Cecelia had to cut off the knotted portion of Harry’s yarn off before handing it back and telling him to try again.

Second attempt more fruitful, Harry paid closer attention as Cecelia went on to demonstrate the starting chain, grasping the yarn with the hook and pulling it through the loop already on the shaft. Malfoy remembered the motion and whipped up a quick set of fifteen chain stitches while Harry tried to keep his hands from shaking, unable to find a comfortable way to hold both hook and yarn.

“It gets easier after you do a couple rows,” Cecelia said sympathetically, calmly demonstrating the motion again. “Some people find it a bit harder to grip until there’s meat on the piece.”

Though his chain stitches were a variety of sizes, Harry was anxious to get to the next step. The sooner this could be over, the better, he decided. Crocheting was admittedly not one of his strengths – the whole thing just felt awkward and rather badly designed. Malfoy, on the other hand, was taking (or retaking, he supposed) quite well to the craft. His chain stitches were neat and even, and Harry had to smile as Malfoy eagerly awaited the next step.

“So now we’re moving on to the single crochet. You’re going to work your hook into the back ridge loop of the second stitch in the starting chain,” Cecelia directed. “Yarn over, and then draw the hook through both loops on your hook.” Harry was lost. As Cecelia was distracted by another customer, Malfoy leaned over to help.

“See, Potter?” Malfoy said, showing Harry again as he made the stitch. “You want to place the hook through this loop, not that one.” He demonstrated again, and Harry was content to watch Malfoy’s graceful fingers dip the hook in and out of the yarn, looping and pulling in quick succession.

After a few minutes, Cecelia turned her attention back to them. “I’m sorry, boys,” she said apologetically. “But we’re going to have to cut our lesson short.”

“No trouble at all,” said Malfoy smoothly. “It was wonderful to see you again, Cecelia.”

Harry was disappointed that the lesson was coming to an end, but maybe he’d have a chance at persuading Malfoy to purchase some materials of his own for the sole purpose of letting Harry watch him crochet.

Cecelia smiled, but looked distracted. “Bring your Harry back soon. It was wonderful to see you again, Draco.” She and Draco embraced, and Harry gave a quick thank you, feeling rather awkward. But as if they were old friends, Cecelia gave him a parting hug as well. She was on the verge of saying something, but the customer impatiently called out to her. In an undertone, Cecelia murmured, “If you both could just put the skeins and hooks back in the teaching crate, I’d really appreciate it. Goodbye now,” she called, walking away.

Malfoy simply took his hook out of the yarn and gave a light tug on the yarn, causing all of his stitches to unravel. Harry followed suit before winding his long yarn tail back around the skein. They slipped them back into the basket, setting the hooks on the side, and Harry looked back around the shop as if he was remembering again how quaint it was.

“Well, Potter?” Malfoy drawled. “In the mood for a cuppa and some biscuits? I’m positively famished.”

Trust Malfoy to over-exaggerate, but Harry was actually pretty hungry. “I could eat,” he shrugged, admiring one of Cecelia’s afghans that was slung over the back of the rocking chair Malfoy’d been sitting in.

“Come on then. I’m about to fade away.”

Harry snorted, shaking his head as he followed Malfoy around the back of the small outdoor café. The blonde tried to order for him at the window, so he had to not-so-subtly interject to make sure they got the turkey and cheese sandwich he’d been admiring on someone else’s plate as they walked over. Of course Malfoy expected him to pay, so Harry dug some Muggle money out of the spare pouch he always kept in his wallet and passed it over to the clerk.

“What was that, Potter?” Malfoy demanded the moment they sat down with their food. “We were only supposed to be getting biscuits and tea.”

“I thought you were famished.”

“Well, I _am_ , but I had somewhere else in mind for lunch.”

“You can just share the sandwich with me, then, and we’ll both be hungry again in a while.”

Placated, Malfoy settled down in his chair and sat with an inscrutable expression. Harry sliced the turkey and cheese in two, taking a big bite before passing the other half (which was, admittedly, much smaller) over to Malfoy. He found his tea already done up just the way he liked it, with a slosh of milk and a big scoop of sugar.

“Thanks,” Harry said, picking it up and taking a gulp. He only narrowly avoided slurping because of the mere thought of Malfoy’s reaction.

Malfoy nodded back at him, delicately sipping his own tea, and tried the sandwich himself. At least he didn’t wince, Harry thought, so that had to be a good sign. Finishing the sandwich and turning to the biscuit, Harry seized a chocolate one and dunked it into his tea before taking a bite. Bugger propriety; he was going to actually enjoy his food. To his complete surprise, Malfoy picked up a vanilla one and followed suit, smiling at Harry’s shock.

“Come on now, Potter,” he chided. “I can have a bit of fun now and again.”

“Right, then,” said Harry, recovering quickly. “Well then I match your biscuit, and raise you one more.” Nearly kidding, he took two long biscuits and dipped them not-ungracefully into Malfoy’s tea, trying to provoke the other man.

“Potter, you utter prat!” snapped Malfoy, anxiously checking his tea for biscuit residue. “Your biscuit, your tea. I would have thought that an elementary concept!”

Unable to keep from laughing, Harry ate the biscuits anyway. “Mmm, Malfoy,” he mocked. “I think your tea tastes better than mine.”

“Here, you can have it,” Malfoy proclaimed, snatching Harry’s tea. “At least you didn’t slobber all over yours.”

“Maybe not,” said Harry, enjoying himself immensely, “But maybe so.” Malfoy looked into Harry’s teacup before heaving a sigh and drinking the cooling liquid anyway.

“I regularly have your tongue in my mouth anyway, so I should be used to this,” Malfoy groaned.

“One would think,” Harry said winningly, sitting up straight and crossing his legs. “Say, Malfoy. Where do you want to go on vacation, then?”

Malfoy’s pointed mouth slipped into a soft ‘o’ of surprise. “Vacation, Potter? Planning our honeymoon already, are we?”

“Not quite,” replied Harry, grinning. “Blimey, though, how’ve you already forgotten our deal? Remember? You take me to three mysterious places around London, and if I have fun, we go on a trip.”

“Now I recall,” said Malfoy gleefully. “And you owe me five galleons as well!” he boasted, taking another swig of tea.

Grumbling, Harry hastily drew the coins out of his pocket and passed them over the table to Malfoy. “Fair’s fair. Now let’s have at it, or I’ll start planning for Siberia.”

Malfoy agreeably leaned forward, interlacing his fingers and initiating direct eye contact with Harry. “Siberia might be an enjoyable destination, though a little cold during the winter months when we have our break at Hogwarts.”

If Malfoy wasn’t going to take this seriously, Harry could see himself getting a little frustrated. “Seems a bit strange for you to not have an opinion, Malfoy,” he said mildly.

“Well, I’ll have you know that Siberia isn’t as much of a frozen wasteland as people think it to be. In fact, I assume it’s something of an icy paradise, home to stunning glaciers and all kinds of winter wildlife.”

“Did you digest a guidebook?” Harry asked, slightly repulsed.

“Of course not, Potter, but one must be acquainted with the world; otherwise one can never hope to achieve anything other than plebian status.”

“Bloody hell, Malfoy,” Harry said exasperatedly. “Come off Siberia already. I was just messing around. I want to have a nice, _warm_ vacation, one where I can let my hair down.”

“Potter, your hair is always –” Harry silenced him with a look. For some reason, it was important to plan this trip, to cement this thing between them. Irrational though it was, he wanted a promise for the future.

“There’s always Paris, Milan, even New York,” Draco shrugged, blasé. “Where do you want to go? I’m really game for anything, Potter, even Siberia.”

Harry threw his hands up in the air. “Fine, then,” he glowered. “Siberia it is. I hope you still have your ridiculous fur coat, because you’re going to need it.”

He decided freezing Malfoy out with a good silent treatment – at least for a few minutes – would give him a preview of what to expect from the frozen wasteland.

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Potter was being oddly quiet, Draco noticed offhandedly. He wasn’t sure why the mood changed so drastically, but was completely sure that it had happened during Potter’s talk about vacations. When he made the bet with Potter in the first place, Draco was mainly concerned with getting Potter’s attention and giving the sodding scarhead a reason to fall in love with him. He had been half joking when initially talking about the trip, and certainly didn’t expect Potter to take him up on the offer. Only now, Potter was all in a snit, acting like Draco kicked his puppy.

Carding a hand through his hair, Draco thought it best to pretend like Potter was serious. He reached out and gently laid his hand over Potter’s, stroking it gently in a way he knew he himself would appreciate. Draco took it as a good sign that Potter didn’t pull away.

“Potter,” Draco said reluctantly. “You don’t understand. It’s simply not about the destination for me.”

Potter remained quiet, waiting to hear Draco’s answer, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to share this part of himself just yet. Draco believed that dreams of any sort were personal, and to expose this information would leave him vulnerable. But hadn’t he already been vulnerable around Potter? A small voice in the back of his head reminded him of this fact, forced him to remember the times Potter found him at his lowest. Surely this is part of what Potter meant when he’d told Draco that they could be intimate without having sex.

They sat at a standoff in the middle of the crowded café, each waiting for the other to budge. Draco wanted to reach out to Potter, to hold him and offer some sort of comfort, but a part of him held back. This could still go south and Draco definitely didn’t want to leave behind a heart stain, too broken to pick up the pieces. It was a test of will, strength, and everything he’d had been taught about self-preservation as a Malfoy. Gryffindors were the ones who stupidly hurled themselves off cliffs, not Slytherins. But it couldn’t be considered ‘hurling’ if it was a leap of faith, Draco reasoned. It was high time he took a leap. Merlin knew what happened the last time he was afraid to jump.

“I just want to travel with you,” he blurted out, unable to wage the internal war any longer. “Even if we went to bloody Siberia, I would enjoy it because I was with you.” Potter finally looked up to meet Draco’s eyes, causing him to blush furiously at the admission.

At this Potter smiled, and the atmosphere slipped back into one of ease once more. “Was that really so hard to admit?” he asked, mock sternly.

“You have no idea,” Draco replied, shaking his head. “I feel as though I’ve just signed a binding contract, even though I didn’t name a destination.”

“Of course you have,” said Potter smugly, quickly looking around to see that no one was watching before Vanishing their dishes. “One that declares you’re going on a trip with me. But you’re eventually going to pick somewhere even if I have to resort to desperate measures to worm it out of you.”

Draco stood, feeling a passing sense of discomfort. “Look, Potter,” he said queasily. “I want this vacation to take into account your dream destinations as well. I’m not going to be responsible for deciding everything in this relationship.”

“No, just the food selections,” muttered Potter under his breath. He rose from his chair to follow Draco out of the café area, back outside, and down the path to the hidden Apparation point just beyond the storefront.

Fixing him with a rigid glare, Draco let that one go. “There has to be somewhere you’ve always to go,” he said reasonably.

“Lots of people want to go to Siberia,” Potter returned, scuffing his shoe against the cement. “Why wouldn’t I be one of them?”

“Dammit, Potter!” Draco hissed. “I’m asking where _you_ want to go.”

“Malfoy, for one, it was your idea in the first place to take the trip, so you should have preference. Also, with everything you’ve been through lately –”

Draco didn’t let him finish. Recklessly (maybe he was channeling some source of inner Gryffindor today after all) Draco said, “Potter, stop being a welcome mat. Your purpose isn’t for the greater good any longer, so you can get off your high horse and learn to have an opinion.”

Potter looked hurt. His breathing accelerated and his green eyes started to glisten in a way Draco knew meant he was close to tears. “I’m trying, Draco,” he said quietly. “It’s in my nature to help others.”

Taking a deep breath, Draco vowed to tread more carefully. He wanted to get through to Potter, not destroy him. “I get that you need something else to fix, Potter, but it’s not about to be me. I’m not a charity case.” Immediately after the words came out of his mouth, Draco winced. So much for the calm and collected approach; Potter always could make him lose control of a situation unlike anyone else.

“What could you possibly want from me then?” said Potter fervently, swiping his sleeve across his face. Draco felt lingering traces of guilt.

“What are you talking about?” Draco asked, dumbfounded. “You have so much to offer, Potter.” But Potter was looking at the ground again, and Draco couldn’t even be sure if the Saviour was listening to what he was saying. He crossed the distance between them in two strides, seizing Potter’s shoulders and shaking him until he finally lifted his head to meet Draco’s eyes. “I’m your partner, Harry,” Draco said firmly. “If this relationship isn’t equal, you’ll eventually resent me.” His own gaze flickered away from Potter’s eyes and focused on some tall grass blowing in the breeze. “And I couldn’t live with that,” he breathed.

In a rare public display of affection, Potter kissed him, and it was doubly surprising because Draco was usually the one to initiate anything physical. He savored the feel of Potter’s soft mouth, of Potter’s hands threading through his hair, daring to hope that Potter’s sudden passion would occur more often. Draco was content to stand close to Potter, their fingers interlaced and noses brushing, but Potter seemed to have other ideas.

“I want you,” he whispered in Draco’s ear, his breath tickling Draco’s skin. “Forget about what I said before. I don’t think I could possibly feel any closer to you than I do right now, Draco.”

With difficulty, Draco extracted himself from Potter and took a step back, breathing heavily from lust. His cock had taken great interest in Potter’s declaration, but he had no intention of acting on impulse. “Harry,” he said carefully, “I do feel very intimate with you. But as you said before, I don’t think we’re ready.”

“So you’d like to wait, then?” Potter asked, stepping forward to clutch Draco’s hand.

“Yes,” he said determinedly, deciding that it was safe to accept the hug Potter was currently trying to initiate. “There is one more thing I’m still curious about,” Draco admitted, purposely trying to tickle _Potter’s_ ear with his breath for payback from before.

“What?” Potter asked huskily, holding Draco tightly.

“Where do you want to go on vacation?”

This time, Potter laughed in response to his question; pulling away to meet Draco’s gaze once more. “I meant what I told you before. I really don’t care where we go.”

“Like you asked me, Potter, how could you not have an opinion on this topic?”

“Malfoy, I feel the same way you do. For me it’s about the journey, not the destination.”

Draco sighed. “I know you’re being serious, but that sounded so unbelievably cheesy I’m trying not to roll my eyes at you.”

“Please do,” Potter invited, his eyes smiling, but somehow, Draco restrained. “Right, then. I’m going to make it even cheesier by saying that I too just want to spend time with you, and that’s why I don’t really care where we go.” Draco _did_ roll his eyes at this, because as Potter admitted it _was_ cheesy, but couldn’t help a small smile from breaking out over his face.

Potter sighed contentedly. “There’s just one more question left to ask,” he said wisely. “Do you want to travel by plane or boat then?” Draco’s expression of sheer horror was enough to sustain Potter’s mischievousness throughout the rest of the afternoon.

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	6. Defamation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Term starts and tempers flare, especially after room assignments are given out. Draco has a strong reaction to an unexpected confession.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it's been a while since you read the first five chapters, you might want to briefly skim through them since I made a few (very minor) changes. Hope you enjoy!

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The next couple months flew by. Though Draco still wasn’t entirely welcome by students (or staff) at the Hogwarts renovations, being with Harry made everything worthwhile. Unconsciously, he started working harder and putting more heart into his efforts. Small traits of Harry’s were starting to rub off on him, but Draco was reasonably sure that he was having an equal effect on the Saviour so he wasn’t too upset. For example, Harry seemed to have taken what Draco had said about owning up to his own opinions and desires to heart. Instead of working solidly without breaks all, Harry established a new schedule. Draco considered a later start to the morning, a solid hour for lunch, and calling it quits in the mid-afternoon much more reasonable. What he liked best was that Harry would often drop by the Manor around half-past eight every morning so they could have tea and biscuits together before Apparating over to Hogwarts.

And not only was Harry more relaxed, he took easily to giving anyone who accused him of not working hard enough a vicious tongue-lashing. The audacity of the masses never failed to amaze Draco. He’d witnessed professors come up to Harry and ask him to take on special projects over his lunch break only to walk away disgruntled and put off after Harry said no. Some of the lazier students would leave the hardest tasks for Harry, knowing his tendency to pick up the slack left by those who either couldn’t or wouldn’t do the work. On more than one occasion, Draco had to physically restrain himself from talking Harry into lowering his already absurdly large workload. Though the man wasn’t going out of his way to take on new projects didn’t mean he wasn’t already pushing himself to the extent of his ability.

Draco challenged himself to match Harry’s output, and together they completed some of the most ambitious assignments for only a two-person squadron. Gryffindor Tower and the entire seventh floor corridor were now fully reconstructed, having been in shambles for much of the summer, and they’d also painstakingly restored the glass greenhouses, taking the time to save each and every one of Hogwarts’ valuable plant specimens. This was in addition to their earlier work with the Slytherin dungeons and Room of Requirement. Draco was only slightly tempted to calculate the percentage of the castle he and Harry personally managed to renovate.

Term was beginning next Monday. There was a large public gathering taking place on the Sunday before, where there would of course be speakers, interviews, and panels present, broadcasted to those unlucky enough to miss the event. On the Friday before the event, which was the last official volunteer workday, McGonagall announced the arrangements for all returning eighth year students.

“Gather round,” she called, magnifying her voice to reach those on the far edges of the campus grounds. “The final decisions have been made in regards to Hogwarts’ ‘eighth year’ students looking to complete their education. Since these numbers are indeed rather small, the eighth years will be housed in a separate wing of the castle, where they will share a single common area and bunk two to a room. There will be no House distinction amongst eighth years.”

Before McGonagall finished speaking, several younger students saw fit to start speculating about professors and classes, their obnoxious giggles echoing across the lake. Draco was never a fan of the Gryffindor Head of House, but he deeply (albeit grudgingly) respected her. He knew exactly what that lot would be in for come the start of term.

As predicted, McGonagall fell silent, causing everyone to turn and look at those who had interrupted her. Their daringness soon evaporated, along with their sense of rudeness. Properly chastised by McGonagall’s burning glare, the three sheepishly faced forward again and listened to the information though it did not pertain to them.

“As I was saying,” McGonagall continued, her voice crisp and cool in the afternoon air, “The eighth year roommates have been assigned. Official requests to swap roommates will not be granted for anything other than an extenuating circumstance. I will be personally evaluating these requests, and let me assure you, personality conflicts are not proper justification. And no, Weasley” – Ron was furiously waving his hand in the air to catch McGonagall’s attention – “Couples of any nature will not be permitted to room together.”

Draco’s heart sank. McGonagall was a sharp woman, and he was sure she’d observed him and Harry snogging a few times over the summer. Even if she hadn’t explicitly seen them locked at the lips, he and Harry hadn’t made any sort of effort to hide the fact that they were together. In fact, it was quite the opposite, as Harry often slung his arm around Draco’s shoulders and Draco would occasionally use Harry’s stomach for a pillow as they lay out on the soft grass during their lunch breaks. Any casual observer could see that they were a couple through the looks they gave, the touches they shared, and the witty banter they exchanged.

With any luck, he’d at least be living with a fellow Slytherin: Theodore and Greg weren’t returning, but Blaise and Pansy were. But more often than not, Draco wasn’t so fortunate. He tried to calm the growing swell of fear in his stomach by turning to Harry, but Draco only saw the same concern reflected back at him from the green depths. Unable to quell his anxiety, Draco reached out for Harry’s hand and was pleased Harry was already clumsily grappling around for his. They stood there with neutral expressions, worry about the following term only noticeable by the exceedingly tight grip each exerted on the other’s hand.

The exchange had only taken a few seconds, but to Draco it felt like years. McGonagall was still talking. “–any eighth year interested in knowing their roommate ahead of time will be able to view the room assignment list, which has been posted on the seventh floor announcement board. More details will be made available on Monday at the start of our new term. Good day, and let our final restorations recommence!” Applause broke out, but Draco and Harry shared only one quick look before dashing off to access the master list.

They pounded through the castle without regard, as though they hadn’t just spent all summer trying to restore it to its former glory. Harry led the way through the vast array of secret passages, subsequently pleasing Draco who knew all the shortcuts but one. Their stealthy departure and impressive knowledge of the castle allowed them to reach the list first.

Panting, Draco stumbled up to the stretch of wall dedicated to announcements and viciously tore the list off, Sticking Charm be damned.

“Merlin,” he swore, scanning the list rapidly. “Could this have been written in smaller penmanship?”

“Of course not,” Harry replied, eyes traveling across the page so fast he vaguely resembled Granger during finals week. “It’s all a deterrent, putting the list the bloody hell up here, writing in miniscule handwriting – for some reason, McGonagall doesn’t want anyone studying this list extensively.”

“I think I can see why,” said Draco dryly, flinging himself upon the floor with abandon, facing his back to the wall. “She’s got me rooming with fucking Finnigan. As if I didn’t need _more_ trouble from that buggering maniac. I would have rather roomed with Longbottom, Potter, _Longbottom_.”

“I know, Malfoy,” Harry said dejectedly, sinking down next to him. “You don’t have to pretend that you two aren’t friends, you know,” he broke in conversationally. As he continued to skim the list, Harry’s rage returned. “She’s gone and put me with Ron.” He clenched his fists angrily. “After I haven’t said two words to that son of a bitch all summer.”

Draco moaned dramatically. “This is a nightmare. I really don’t see why we couldn’t have just bunked in our House dormitories. I know for a fact that there’s extra space in the old staff quarters, at least in Slytherin, anyway.”

“It sure would have made things a lot easier,” admitted Harry. “But look on the bright side – at least we’ll be a lot closer together than if I was in Gryffindor Tower and you were all the way down in the dungeons.” However his lover tried to spin it, Harry’s presence would not make up for the threat of vengeful Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors, and Ravenclaws.

“We might even get to see each other if Finnigan doesn’t murder me first,” Draco said sarcastically. He was only half-joking, too. Draco hadn’t forgotten how Finnigan looked at him with cruelty in his eyes the first day Draco participated in renovations.

Harry sighed, clapping a hand down on Draco’s shoulder. “Right. But it’s only for one more year, at least,” he said reasonably.

Draco pulled his knees into his chest, crossing his arms around his legs and burying his face. “I want to commute,” he grumbled, voice muffled through his shirtsleeves.

They sat quietly for another thirty seconds, Draco enjoying the feeling of Harry stroking his back. Draco’s comfortable silence was interrupted by Harry’s loud outburst. “It could work, too,” he said excitedly. “We could rent a flat in Hogsmeade and walk to school or Floo in.”

“McGonagall was your Head of House,” said Draco, shrugging. “What do you think our chances are of getting her to agree?”

“Probably less than nil,” Harry admitted gloomily. “After all that rubbish about extenuating circumstances.”

Filled with dread about the upcoming term, they brooded on their predicament for another few minutes before the sound of stampeding feet coming up the staircase disturbed them.

Harry hauled Draco up. “Let’s get out of here. I really don’t want to see any of their smug faces right now,” he groused. 

“Of course. Time to finish renovating this miserable castle,” Draco scoffed. “The one we call home.” He turned back to glare again at the list, which they’d stuck back to the wall with another Sticking Charm, though it was admittedly a bit more wrinkled than before. Despite his gratefulness in being allowed to return to Hogwarts and finish his education, Draco was irked that the eighth years were being treated like children. He had endeavored to be more open minded this term, but the burgeoning resentment in his gut squashed all inclinations of niceness. The cards were dealt, and Draco would have to adopt the best possible persona to make it through the year unscathed.

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Ron’s face was an ugly shade of puce, Harry reflected, while they stared each other down unrelentingly. The current fight was over who got to use the shower first in the morning - during their six years of Hogwarts, neither Harry or Ron would ever get up early to bathe, but with Draco and Hermione around, they were concerned about being clean for their respective lovers.

“You bloody well took the first shower yesterday,” snarled Harry, unconsciously curling his hands into fists. “And not that you care, but you made me ten minutes later for Transfiguration. McGonagall practically skewered me.”

Ron snorted. Harry gazed into his blue eyes and noticed the coldness there that was not so different from the glares he and Malfoy used to exchange. Except that he and Ron grew up together as practically brothers. “It’s not like it really makes a difference, though, does it? You’re the sodding _Chosen One_ so you can get away with anything.”

“That’s not true and you know it,” said Harry, who considered that a low blow. “But my fame has always gotten to you, hasn’t it? You’ve always been so jealous about a status that I never even bloody well wanted -”

“Yeah, well you still benefit from it anyway!” bellowed Ron, “Everywhere you go, people practically fall all over themselves fawning at your feet!”

Harry shook his head, stung. “I’d trade it all in a minute for my family, and you know that. Stop romanticizing my situation because it’s just pathetic.”

Ron pulled out his wand and pointed it at Harry. “You have no right to call _me_ pathetic. Who's that you’re dating? Malfoy? Jeez, Potter, I could have found you a better hole to fuck in George’s joke shop, I’m sure there are some fake arses or something –”

He didn’t have time to get another word out. Harry launched himself across the bed dividing the two, tackling Ron to the floor. Before his former best friend could blink, Harry had slammed his fist twice into Ron’s nose, breaking it cleanly as blood poured out onto the carpeting. Ron fought back, taking the cheap shot at Harry’s balls with his knee. As Harry doubled over, he staggered to his feet and whacked him on the back of the head with a rolled up copy of _The Daily Prophet_. Wincing, Harry forced himself upright before viciously attempting to strangle Ron. They writhed around on the floor together, kicking over lamps, upsetting furniture, and wreaking havoc on the room.

BANG. The door flew open to reveal Hermione Granger wearing a tartan dressing gown and a scowl on her face. “Ronald Weasley! Harry Potter!” she screeched. “Stop this abysmal behavior at _once_! You’re both acting like children!” Behind her in the hallway, Harry could make out other Gryffindors as well as a few Hufflepuffs. He was only glad that Draco wasn’t around to witness this.

Hermione continued, “I am so _sick_ of hearing you two fight. Ronald, I can tell you right now that you better let him have the first shower, because you’re certainly not getting _any_ today!” She slammed the door in their stunned faces, loudly stomping down the hallway away from the dormitories.

Harry, still boiling with rage, detached himself from Ron in silent fury. He dusted himself off before making for the bathroom and slamming the door behind him. Without hesitation, he stepped into the shower fully clothed and turned on the water full-blast. It calmed him, cooled him, and after a good five minutes of freezing under the spray, he’d recovered enough of his sensibilities to pull off his sopping clothing and wash properly. He was uncomfortable around Ron, but not enough to refrain from wearing only his towel out to their shared room, where Ron gave him nasty looks as he changed. Harry side-checked him on the way out the door.

He slunk into the seat Draco saved him at breakfast, ten minutes late.

“What happened?” Draco whispered urgently, angling his face so that his lips could not be read across the table. “You look like you’ve just had it out with another Dark Lord.”

Unconsciously, Harry’s hands again clenched into fists. “Ron,” he muttered back to Draco. “Ron happened.”

It was a mark of Draco’s maturity and trust in Harry that he simply turned back to his plate and continued to cut his sausage, calm as could be. Harry recognized this gesture of affection, and, aching to return it, grabbed Draco’s hand and squeezed it hard, giving the blonde a significant look of appreciation. He remembered wondering earlier that summer if Draco was trustworthy and rather felt ashamed for ever having doubts about him, even so early in their relationship.

They ate on in silence, neither paying any attention to the conversations happening around the table. When McGonagall finally gave the morning announcements and called an end to the meal, Harry leapt out of his chair and dashed for the Great Hall, still holding Draco’s hand tightly within his own. It was too much stimuli; he was still vibrating with unchecked anger from his exchange with Ron and simply wanted to vent to Draco (and then engage in some of the activities he’d wanted to shower before doing in the first place). Instead, when Harry opened the door, he was immediately bombarded by a slew of reporters, all accompanied by Quick-Quote quills and spouting questions directly into his face.

The first one that registered in his brain was “Mr. Potter! Is it true that you’re in an on-going romantic relationship with former Death Eater Draco Malfoy?” Harry’s stomach dropped. Without realizing it, he turned to Draco just behind his shoulder, meeting his lover’s eyes and watching as the little bit of color Draco possessed disappeared from his face at once. Their situation did not improve. When Harry whirled back to the mass, they rounded on him yet again. “Are you aware that the Malfoy name has been dragged through the mud, Mr. Potter? By consorting with Malfoy, are you trying to help him restore his former status?”

“The nature of my and Draco’s relationship is none of your business,” Harry snarled. “And as for the rest of you? No comment.” He made to slam the door in the reporters’ faces, but before it had the chance to shut completely, the initial reporter yelled out, in a voice that carried, “Mr. Potter, is it true that Draco Malfoy lets you take him from behind?” Thankfully, the door latched, but not before Harry’s astounded expression was forever captured by the reporter’s tag-teaming photographer.

For a moment, they stood looking at the closed door, having been stunned into silence. Thoroughly humiliated and terrified Draco was furious at him for the reporter’s assumption that Harry was the dominant one in their relationship, he gathered up his Gryffindor courage and rotated around to try and gather clues from Draco’s expression. But Draco wasn’t wearing any emotion at all on his countenance; in fact, he was entirely unreadable. Behind him, a small crowd of stragglers had formed, having wandered down from breakfast to enjoy the lake and cool breeze.

Before he could speak, Draco said tersely, “Not here.” Harry was surprised when Draco stepped forward and firmly grasped his arm before leading the both of them away from the onlookers and down towards the dungeons. Though the way was clear from there on, neither said a word. Vaguely expecting to be led into the Slytherin dormitories, Harry tensed up when Draco shoved him into a spare classroom whose existence he hadn’t even been aware of until now.

Since Draco had taken control of the situation up until now, it came as a bit of a shock to when Draco put his head in his hands and started pacing around the room. “Great,” he said, seemingly through clenched teeth. “Now both of us will have ruined reputations. We should have thought this far in advance, Potter, and came up with a cover story for why we’ve been spending time together. Because no one will certainly believe any excuses now.”

As he paused to draw breath, Harry tried to break in, but Draco determinedly kept going. “There’s nothing else for it, Potter. We’re going to have to stop this. It’s been fun and all, but I won't have you giving up everything for me. You won’t be the Saviour anymore, you’ll become the Scorned or something as equally horrendous.” He yanked a small paper crane Harry had made earlier that day and shoved it towards him, though Harry could see his hands shaking rather badly. “Here, you can have this back. We’ll go for a clean break, because I can’t stand to have mementos of you around me –”

Harry snapped back into reality as he realized that, unchecked, Draco really would try to end things between them. He lunged forward and put his hands on Draco’s shoulders, shaking him in an attempt to knock some sense into Malfoy’s thick skull.

“Draco,” he said fiercely. “We are not ending this because of some media interference. You hear me? The only people who make decisions about our relationship are us.”

His impassioned speech seemed to have no impact on Draco, who was shaking his head. Harry pulled him into his arms and squeezed him tightly, whispering into his ear, “We’ve come so far, Malfoy. I can’t lose you over this, and I won’t.”

There was a sniffle, and suddenly Draco was breathing back, wet and hot with tears, “But you’d be giving up everything, Potter. And for what?”

Lacing his fingers tightly in Draco’s hair, Harry murmured, “That depends on my definition of ‘everything,’ Malfoy. What would I do without your smart mouth?”

Through his sobs, Draco chuckled and finally held him back, nuzzling his face into Harry’s neck. Harry smiled into his hair, relieved that Draco wasn’t shutting him out any longer. Completely on impulse, he whispered, “I love you.” Immediately, Draco’s entire body stiffened. He drew back away and quickly wiped away the tears still welling in his eyes. That was not quite the reaction Harry had been hoping for.

“You’re lying, Potter,” Malfoy said slowly. As he pushed his hair back away from his face, Harry could see that his hands were badly shaking again. “I’ll have you know that is very unbecoming behavior for a Saviour.” He frantically looked from the door to Harry and back.

Anger coiled in Harry’s gut that Draco wouldn’t just simply believe him. Though he wanted to continue to shake and slap the great, stupid git, Harry exercised his self-restraint that only rarely made an appearance. “Say what you like, Malfoy. I’ll come find you in a couple hours.” With that, he left. What else was there to say? Draco could be such a stubborn fool.

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Draco felt relieved Potter left him alone for once instead of badgering and nagging. He was overwhelmed and needed some peace and quiet to absorb all the information.

“Count to fifteen,” Draco briskly told himself. He couldn’t calm down. He couldn’t count. His thoughts were going around and around in circles as he tried to absorb the events of the morning: Reporters outing Potter’s sexuality, teasing out details of their relationship to distribute to the public by afternoon, and, most unforgettably, Potter declaring he loved Draco. How could Draco possibly believe him? Potter was always saying things he didn’t mean in that act-first think-later way of his. Draco wanted with all of his heart to believe Potter’s words, but was desperately afraid of getting hurt should Potter actually be overestimating his feelings.

He couldn't stay in this room anymore. The walls seemed to be closing in, entrapping him in this space where Potter confessed his love. His love. What was Draco going to do with love? _He’d_ always known his feelings for Potter ran deeper, but he’d honestly thought Potter’s could never match the depth of his own. There wasn’t anything left for it. Draco ran, Disillusioning himself only out of self-preservation.

The troublesome thoughts slipped away as he solely concentrated on moving through the castle, darting around varied students and slipping into every secret passage he knew. When he ran through the one he'd learned from Potter, Draco’s heart experienced a crippling twang. He knew that no matter how this situation turned out, Potter had already ruined him for anyone else. There was a small back exit leading out to the garden which not many people knew about. Flinging open the door, Draco crossed the courtyard quickly and enclosed himself within the safety of the second greenhouse. Flowers primarily grew in the first and vegetables in the third so they drew a lot of attention from students. No one particularly liked to visit the second, which was home to plenty of venomous shrubs, foul-mouthed mosses, and stink bushes.

Settling down next to one of the more fairly innocent species in the greenhouse, Draco allowed himself to fall apart properly, tears streaming down his face as he attempted to keep himself from flat out bawling. He lost track of time even as his sobs slowed. The feeling of depression never quite went away, not after every time Draco tried to think of options for him and Potter, he came up with nothing.

The door to the greenhouse suddenly rattled, opening noisily as the hinges squeaked. Draco prayed for it not to be Potter because he was in no mood for a conversation which was likely to turn into an argument anyhow. A rustling sound alerted him to the other’s presence, so Draco tried to quiet himself. Seconds later, Neville Longbottom came into view. He nodded at Draco and sank down beside him, pulling a rolled up newspaper out of his back pocket.

“I take it you haven't seen the news yet?”

Draco shook his head. Neville wordlessly extracted a newspaper from his back pocket and passed it over. Unsurprised to see _The Daily Prophet_ in his hand, Draco read the headline, fluttering anxiety already forming in his gut: “From Saviour to Sinner: Harry Potter’s Scandalous Rendezvous with Death Eater Draco Malfoy”. Accompanying the damning words was the picture the meddlesome photojournalist had snapped just before they retreated into the castle, the one with Draco hiding behind a dumbfounded Harry. Draco skimmed the article quickly and wasn't disappointed to find the expected slanderous lies against the Malfoy name and the probing questions about Harry’s mental state.

Beside him, Neville makes a sympathetic noise. “Bloody vultures, the lot of them. I wouldn’t worry too much about it though; Harry’s had far worse press than this.”

“He’s not going to have to worry about any of it soon enough,” Draco said bracingly, doing his best to lock down his emotions. Malfoys avoided showing weakness wherever possible.

“You’re not thinking about doing something stupid again, are you?”

Draco gave Neville his best Malfoy sneer. “I simply care about Potter too much to let him suffer through this media shitstorm.”

Unlike he would have a few years ago, Neville did not falter to Draco’s glare. “Really, Malfoy? Like Harry cares what the press thinks of him.”

“It’s not only the press,” Draco insisted. “It’s the entire Wizarding World. I’m universally disliked, Longbottom, and it will wreak havoc on Potter’s life.”

Neville snorted. “I’m telling you, he doesn’t care. Harry’s only concerned about the people who matter most to him, which includes you.”

With that, Draco remembered Potter’s declaration and tensed up all over again. “How can you tell he really feels that way about me?” he asked hesitantly, embarrassed to be letting Longbottom see so much of his inner turmoil.

A loud chuckle came from Neville. “Honestly,” he chortled, “You’d have to be a fool not to see how much he cares for you.”

“Thanks a lot,” Draco muttered, throwing Neville yet another dirty look. “You’re making me fantastically better here, Longbottom.”

“Oh, not you,” Neville clarified, waving Draco off. “I was talking about outside observers. I mean, Harry's not only shunned his two best friends, but he's always trying to be there for you in every way he can.”

Draco teared up at this. “You say it like it’s a bad thing,” he whispered. Despite his best efforts, wetness started trailing down his face. Turning his face away from Neville, Draco tried to eliminate evidence of his weakness.

Placing a comforting hand on Draco’s shoulder, Neville backtracked. “That’s not what I meant at all; obviously you return his affections, so together you can stand united against the shitstorm called public opinion.”

Still unconvinced, Draco pressed harder. “So you think Potter’s feelings for me are genuine, then?” He couldn’t keep his voice from slightly lilting, revealing his vulnerability further.

“Of course!” Neville exclaimed. “When have you ever known Harry to do or say anything that goes against his supreme moral code? And when he does have to tell a white lie or something, he’s complete rubbish at it. Anyone who knows him well can see right through him.”

Draco breathed a sigh of relief. He leaned into Neville’s touch, relishing the comfort amidst all of the difficulties that were now his life.

“Say, why are you so concerned about how Harry’s feeling?” asked Neville, suddenly suspicious.

“No reason.” Draco was going to take the secret with him to the grave and deny, deny, deny even if Neville guessed correctly.

Neville gave him a piercing look, as though he could see right through Draco despite his best efforts. “You're obviously losing your Slytherin touch of secrecy. I can totally tell that you're hiding something.”

Refusing to say another word until the subject was changed, Draco leaned back against the wall and stretched his legs out in a more relaxed position.

“So he obviously said something that freaked you out, because you didn't believe whatever it was that he said,” Neville correctly deduced. “What, did he tell you he wanted you guys to move in together?”

Draco kept his face impassive, focusing on a plant sporting flowers of a particularly ugly shade of puce. If he squinted his eyes a little, maybe they would become slightly more attractive?

“That’s not it,” sighed Neville. “Knowing Harry, he would have just blurted out something really intense. Oh, wait – I know!” he exclaimed, sliding in front of Draco and blocking his view of the repulsive plant. “He told you he’s ready to have sex.”

Shifting uncomfortably and determinedly keeping himself from making eye contact with Neville, Draco pasted a bored expression on his face. Harry's declaration certainly meant he was ready to go for it now in a way he hadn’t been before, but Draco would worry about crossing the bridge of sex and the resulting penetration when they actually came to it.

Neville peered into Draco’s eyes, paying zero regards to personal space or any sort of proper behavior etiquette at all. “Merlin. Those are the big ones I can think of. Good God – what else could there possibly be?” Draco finally looked back at Neville, changing his mind in the spur of the moment and gifting permission for Longbottom to truly see into his soul. He dropped his barriers and let his true anxieties and insecurities reign free, mentally broadcasting what Potter said in the hopes that Neville would cotton on. Somehow, it worked. Or Longbottom had a lot more brain cells than Draco usually gave him credit for.

“No,” Neville gasped, grasping Draco’s hands and scooting even closer. Draco curled his legs up in order to keep some kind of barrier between them. “He didn’t say _that_ , did he? Not yet!” Dropping his gaze to the floor in confirmation, Draco closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Harry really told you that he loves you?” Neville whispered, unable to proceed without making sure they were on the same page.

In response, hot tears began sliding down Draco’s cheeks. He sniffled, trying to stop them, but when Neville suddenly threw his arms around Draco and squeezed tightly, the wetness only continued to pour out unchecked. They sat there like that for long moments, Neville offering comfort to Draco’s plummeted self-esteem along with healthy reassurances.

At one point, Draco found himself confessing his thoughts on how Potter couldn’t possibly love him because he didn’t deserve it, and Neville immediately started trying to prove him wrong, pulling out different anecdotes from the summer and using them as evidence. Eventually, some of Neville’s better thought out arguments started to make sense to Draco. Maybe one day, he could even believe them.

Once he was all cried out, Draco half-heartedly tried to shove Neville away. “Get off now, you great buffoon,” he quipped weakly. “I don’t just let any old sod touch me.”

“You need to go talk to Harry,” Neville ordered, ignoring the insults but retreating anyway out of Draco’s personal bubble. He still left a reassuring hand on his knee, and for that, Draco was absurdly grateful.

“Not yet,” Draco said, weak but determined. “But soon.”

Neville huffed in impatience. “Don’t you get it? If you break things off with Harry because of the media, you’re letting them win.” Slightly apologetically, he pushed on. “Since when have you ever let anyone ruin something that was in your own best interest?”

Thoughtful, Draco considered. Maybe ignoring his own wants would cause him to lose more of his sense of self than any of the other changes he’d been forced to make in attitude and values after the War. Longbottom could be making a good point. After all, a broken clock was right twice a day. He forced himself to stop thinking and just do.

“Let’s go,” Draco said hastily, decided. He rose to his feet and reached a hand down to Neville, pulling him up and accidentally dislodging a potted moss. Amidst the plant’s howling curses, Draco declared “I have a Saviour to find” before setting off for the greenhouse door, Neville following behind in his wake.

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	7. Determination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry meets Hermione down by the lake; Draco and Harry come to an understanding.

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This day could _not_ get any better. It really couldn’t. His fist still hurt from pummeling Ron earlier, but Harry couldn’t help wishing he’d hit the git harder. Maybe if he’d gotten up on the right side of the bed, the media wouldn’t have ambushed him and pushed Draco farther and farther away when they’d been doing so well together. Or maybe, a little voice inside of his head chided, if you’d kept your big mouth shut your relationship with him would have developed naturally over time instead of when you decided to rush everything along as usual.

He fought back against the guilt and tried to shift the blame onto someone else. As usual, he could only hold himself accountable.

This would have been the optimal time to ask his _friends_ for advice about how to handle Draco. Scuffing his trainers against the cool stone floors, Harry reflected on what Ron and Hermione might have advised doing.

Hermione would have definitely given him an “Oh, Harry!” and made half-fond, half-exasperated eyes at him. After his usual ten seconds of feeling like an idiot, she would have taken pity and then shared with him the perfect method of winning back disgruntled lovers, which of course she would have remembered from some ancient tome about gay wizard relationships she’d read at least three years ago. He pictured himself scoffing and rolling his eyes at her, secretly grateful for what was to surely be the perfect method of getting Draco back.

Ron would have probably shoved a Firewhiskey at him and gotten him good and drunk. Though Ron wasn’t the most talkative bloke, at least he wouldn’t be feeling his pain. When they were both past tipsy and Ron could stand conceptualizing him and Draco together, he’d probably have advised Harry to just go and talk to him. After Harry presumably rolled his eyes, Ron would have probably gotten serious and mentioned that when he irked Hermione, begging and admitting that he really was a moron always worked. Past desperation, Harry probably would have done it, even being drunk and all, and still gotten Draco to take him back.

Imagining their responses definitely wasn’t the same thing as hearing them in person. Harry heaved a sigh, stifling his anger at the situations he didn’t seem to be able to change. Ducking into one of the side passages that led towards the library, Harry cast a quick Muffiato before thoroughly cursing out the dark space in front of him.

He’d almost felt relatively back to normal by the time he re-entered the corridor. Taking a deep breath, Harry resolved to find Draco, even if he didn’t want to be found, and explain things to him. Surely even if Draco didn’t feel the same way about him, they could still come to some sort of compromise.

Just then, Professor McGonagall appeared from a side corridor, and Harry’s rage quickly returned. It was in part because of her that he and Draco were having these problems. If they could have roomed together, then he wouldn’t have to put up with Ron’s shit, and if she had done a better job of supervising which journalists and photographers were allowed to visit the castle, perhaps they wouldn’t have had that terrible interaction earlier that afternoon.

The library was in sight. If he could just walk only a few more steps, he would escape McGonagall’s line of sight and disappear amongst the stacks.

“Mr. Potter!” called Professor McGonagall, somewhere off to his right. He cringed, wishing that he had made a faster getaway.

“Good evening, Professor,” Harry said evenly, rotating around as to face her. Determinably, he did not meet her eyes; instead focusing on her thin shoulders. Against his will, his hands began to clench. He stuffed them into his robe pockets before she could notice.

“Off the library so early in the term?” McGonagall said almost disapprovingly. “Especially without Ms. Granger around to remind you of the importance of your studies?”

“You might say I’ve decided to take on a little extra responsibility,” Harry managed, latching on to the paper crane Draco had returned and squeezing it.

McGonagall pursued her lips. “That’s very decent, Mr. Potter. However, if you might follow me to my office, there were a few matters we should discuss.”

There was no way he could manage to control his temper for that long. His self-control had grown, but behaving for an extended period of time under so much stress was beyond him.

He allowed a little urgency into his voice, letting his emotions seep through the cracks. “Professor, could we kindly reschedule for another time? I really must –”

 “Mr. Potter, I insist. Organizations from across the Wizarding World have been contacting Hogwarts and requesting for you to champion their causes, and, I must say, some of them really have the best interests of society in mind. It would only take a few minutes to look over some of the propositions –”

“Minerva,” said Harry firmly, invoking her first name in what was surely to be the first and last time he ever did so, “Now is not a good time.”

She gazed at him incredulously, and Harry was instantly reminded of how he, at eleven years old, knew that Professor McGonagall was not a person to cross. This was probably something he would have done well to remember.

After a moment, her eyes returned to normal and the horrible tightness Harry was feeling in his chest passed. “Mr. Potter,” she asked, perhaps a tad less testily than usual, “Do you require my assistance?”

“What?” asked Harry, taken aback. “No, of course not, Professor.”

There was another rather awkward silence. “The media interference will not happen again,” McGonagall said firmly. “Our new head of communications decided to take certain, shall we say, _liberties_ with the grounds policies and has already been disciplined. Though the press conference has been rescheduled, it will happen in a much more controlled manner.”

Harry couldn’t think of anything to say because, after all, the damage had already been done.

McGonagall sighed. “Mr. Potter, it’s always been known to me that you conceive of Hogwarts as your home. Under my term as Headmistress, I certainly do not want that to change. In fact,” she said, with a slight crinkling of her eyes, “I admit that I quite wish for you to feel safer here than you ever have before, seeing as You-Know-Who is no longer a threat.”

“Er –” said Harry, once again taken by surprise at the Professor’s candor. “I appreciate your efforts, Professor,” he eventually said.

“Good night,” said McGonagall kindly. She swept off down the corridor along with a good chunk of his anger, and as he watched her retreating back, Harry suddenly decided to go for it and ask the questions that had been bugging him since the beginning of term.

“Professor!” he called, jogging down the corridor to catch up with her. She fixed him with a markedly unconcerned expression, though Harry was completely sure she knew what he was about to ask.

He almost lost his nerve when he thought of how implications behind what he was asking would become clear to her, but the only way out was through. “Why did you room me and Draco separately? And of all people, why place me with _Ron_?”

“Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said, irritating Harry again with the crispness of her voice. “Were you listening when I addressed the other eighth years about room arrangements? I very clearly stated that couples of any nature would not be permitted to room together.”

“Right,” Harry said quickly, eager to get to the point. He was much more interested in why she had stuck him with the champion git.

“As for Mr. Weasley,” said McGonagall thoughtfully, “Well, I suppose that after witnessing seven years of friendship between you two, I rather expected that you would have worked out your problems by now. I do wish you a good evening, Mr. Potter.” She left no room for discussion as she strode away, purposeful and righteous.

Her words left an overlaying sense of guilt and regret in Harry’s gut. Under ordinary circumstances, he would have worked things out with Ron by now. He did have to admit that he was a lot less interested in spending time with his friends now that his free hours were filled with Draco. But, as usual, McGonagall only spoke the truth, harsh as it was: Harry hadn’t been doing nearly enough to right things with Ron and Hermione. Her divine interventions were almost as painful as only Dumbledore’s could be.

On the spot, Harry made up his mind to talk to his friends before trying to win Draco back. After all, those visualizations he’d had earlier where they gave him advice could become reality if he played his cards right.

Out of the two, Hermione was definitely the better person to approach first. Even despite her distaste for Draco, she, unlike Ron, had the ability to be mature and decent about difficult situations.

When he’d gone to Cecelia’s with Draco, Harry hadn’t been able to help himself from buying an amigurumi otter for her. He knew she’d think it was precious regardless of how mad she happened to be when he gave it to her. The eighth year dormitory wasn’t far away, and for that Harry was relieved, because Gryffindor Tower (which he always seemed to gravitate to anyway) was a much farther walk.

He wasn’t strong enough to resist peeking by Draco's room to see if, by some small miracle, he had already returned. He hadn’t, but at least Finnegan wasn’t there to tell Harry off for magically breaking into their shared room.

The library had been devoid of Hermione when he’d been down there only a half-hour ago, so Harry decided to try some of her other favorite on-campus spots. Hopefully, he could catch her without Ron nearby.

It took another a couple trips around the grounds, but Harry finally found her out by the lake, walking barefoot down by the shoreline. He watched her for a few minutes before deciding to approach. She looked normal, but Hermione had a special talent for guarding her expression. After all, she’d always managed to look engaged during five years of History of Magic lessons.

“Hermione,” Harry called tentatively. She looked up in surprise, wincing as the cold water washed over her feet from a slight wave.

“Harry!” she exclaimed exactly the same way he’d anticipated she would.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked, leaving the otter where it was in his rucksack.

“If you’re alright staying out by the lake,” Hermione answered. “I know how fond you always were of the Giant Squid.”

He smiled. “I’ve seen worse. I’d be happy to stay out here with you, ‘Mione.” Shucking off his own shoes, Harry folded his robe carefully before rolling up his pant legs and wading into the freezing cold water. “Merlin, that’s cold.”

Hermione laughed. “You should have seen Ron’s face when –” she broke off, looking fearfully at Harry.

“You can keep going, I don’t mind,” he said enthusiastically though slightly untruthfully. Naturally, Hermione saw through him. Seven years of being his best friend had that effect.

“I know you’re still mad at us –” she began.

“That’s why I’m here, actually,” Harry said, picking up a wide, flat stone and skipping it across the surface of the water. “To apologize.”

He waited for Hermione to say something, but she knew how to wait him out.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted. “For springing my relationship with Draco on you and Ron without any sort of warning. I’m sorry that I didn’t listen to your concerns, even if I didn’t agree with them.”

Hermione was gesturing for Harry to slow down and had placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, but if he stopped now, there was no way he could get the rest out. “I’m sorry that I didn’t try harder to mend this rift between us, because you’re two of the most important people to me in the whole world, and Draco doesn’t overshadow either of you. He’s just another facet of my life now, that’s all.”

“Are you done now?” asked Hermione with a hint of mirth in her eyes.

“Yes,” said Harry, forcefully exhaling. He sank down on the pebbly shore and stared out at the water.

“I’ll respond to everything you just said in more detail,” said Hermione, sinking down next to him and curling up, presumably setting in for the long haul. “But first, Harry, take a breath. I forgive you.”

He met her eyes for the first time then, throwing his arms around her and knocking them both over on the sprawling shore. Hermione hugged him back even though he was crushing her, squeezing him with more strength than he’d thought possible. After a minute, Hermione let out a small squeak of discomfort, and Harry rolled off of her ribs only to receive a number of sharp pebbles in his spine for the effort.

“For the record,” she said when they could both breathe again, “I’ve wanted to apologize to you for ages. Ever since that day in Diagon Alley when you showed up with Draco.”

Harry tilted his head in silent question. “I would say that Ron held me back from seeking you out,” she said, blinking back tears, “But that’s only partially true. It felt like you were choosing him over us, and it made me angry.”

It was Harry’s turn to sit silently and let Hermione talk. She took another minute before finishing her thought, instead grasping around in her pocket for a tissue and wiping her eyes. He put his hand on her back and gently touched her in much the same way he’d comforted Draco at the beginning of summer.

“But I wasn’t just angry with you,” Hermione finally continued. “I was hurt by your actions. We traded jabs with Draco all throughout school, but he wasn’t just unpleasant to me, he was cruel and downright nasty. I couldn’t believe that you could actually feel something other than hate towards that _absolute toerag_.”

Taken aback by the pure venom in her voice, Harry momentarily stopped rubbing and started wondering if it would ever be possible for her to find forgiveness for Draco in her heart.

“As the summer went on, I started to understand,” she said, sniffling still. She turned around to meet his eyes again and Harry could see true regret there. “I watched you and Draco repair parts of the castle. Ron had some of Fred and George’s old Extendable Ears as well, so I nicked them and listened to your conversations. Finally, I could tell what you meant when you said he had changed.”

“It was despicable of me, I know,” she snorted, half laughing and half crying as another tear streamed down her face. “But I had to know what you were getting yourself into.”

There was only one thing Harry could think of to say. “I wish you could have gotten to know who Draco’s become by spending time with him instead of spying on us.”

“I know,” Hermione said. “I feel terrible.”

“Don’t,” Harry responded, wiping away her tears. “If I hadn’t been such a git about everything I could have given you that chance.”

“What’s done is done,” said Hermione shakily. “The only thing we can do now is move forward.”

Harry smiled. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve honestly missed your brain,” he said, hugging her close to him again. She laughed, patting Harry’s bicep before pulling away again, a look of hesitation on her face.

“You still haven’t forgiven him, have you?” Harry asked quietly.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” she said miserably. “I just don’t know how I can.”

Sighing, Harry nodded in sympathy. “I understand, ‘Mione. I’m not going to pressure him to make amends, because it would mean more if that was something he did on his own, but I really hope that this doesn’t affect our relationship.”

“I’ll try not to let it,” Hermione responded. “It’s been absolute hell not talking to you for so long, Harry. I miss my best friend.”

“I feel the same way,” Harry said. “There’s so much I’ve wanted to tell you and ask you, you have no idea.” He laughed mirthlessly.

“Maybe we can come to some sort of middle ground,” suggested Hermione. “We can’t say for sure whether or not Draco will try and make amends, but for the unforeseeable future, maybe there’s a compromise.”

“What did you have in mind?” Harry asked, knowing full well she’d already thought this all through.

“We can resume our friendship as it was before,” Hermione began.

“Hopefully stronger than it was before.” Harry broke in.

“Agreed,” she said. “I can be civil to Malfoy if you can be civil to Ron.”

“He’s not ready to forgive me yet?” Harry asked, wincing.

“Not even close,” Hermione said sadly, shaking her head. “After your fight this morning, he was ranting and raving up a storm. I think he’s gone and sent a letter to the Burrow with an enclosed copy of the _Prophet_ and a request for Molly to send you a Howler.”

“Fantastic,” said Harry dryly.

“I know,” Hermione said. “I’ve tried to talk to him reasonably about the situation, but you know how Ron gets, especially when Malfoy is involved.”

“Funny,” said Harry. “I always thought I was the one to get more riled up when Malfoy was involved.”

They managed to make eye contact before bursting out laughing, rolling around on the frigid shore in their mirth.

“I wonder,” gasped Harry, “If Ron isn’t just dying to touch Draco's cock. That would explain a lot.”

“Harry!” shouted Hermione, slapping his arm. “Now I know that’s not true. Actually, last night we –”

“Urgh!” cringed Harry, fending off her attack and covering his eyes in one motion. “Please, Hermione, don’t start talking about your and Ron’s sex life.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” said Hermione, smiling wickedly. “As part of the compromise, you can tell me all the intimate details of your and Malfoy’s relationship if I can talk to you about my and Ron’s.”

“I’ll do anything if it means you’ll stop talking _right now_ ,” Harry emphasized.

Hermione kept laughing. “You realize it will be a whole lot worse than this, right?” she cackled.

“Oh, definitely,” said Harry. “But I think I can keep my end of the bargain. I haven’t been able to really talk about Draco to anyone, you have no idea.”

“Actually, I do,” Hermione said. “Have you ever tried talking about sex with your boyfriend’s sister? I don’t recommend trying it.”

Harry winced in sympathy. “Thankfully, Draco’s an only child,” he said cheerfully.

“Speaking of Malfoy,” Hermione said thoughtfully, “Isn’t that him standing down by the pumpkin patch?”

Looking over to where she gestured, Harry definitely caught sight of Draco's platinum blonde hair for a split second before he bolted out of the clearing and down the path towards the Forest.

“Fuck,” Harry said, massaging his face bones with both of his hands. “Yup, that was Malfoy.”

“Want to talk about it?” Hermione asked sympathetically.

Harry sighed. “Do you want the short version or the long version?”

“Honestly, Harry, I think you should give me the story in a nutshell and go find your boyfriend.”

“Well, you obviously heard about the exposé today, right?”

“Obviously,” said Hermione. “I read every word.”

“So he started freaking out as soon as we got away from that wanker who asked me that question. His main concern was that his horrible reputation would tarnish mine, and that, since any cover story we could have come up with would have obviously been blown, that we should just break up to prevent any further media damage.”

“Harry, you let him think that?!”

“I didn’t _let_ him,” said Harry indignantly. “He came up with it all on his own. I told him that couldn’t possibly be true, that I didn’t care what the media said about me, that we were the only ones who made decisions about our relationship.”

“Was he convinced?” Hermione asked skeptically.

“Not really,” Harry sighed. “He seemed to think that I’d be giving up everything for him. So I, erm, kind of told him, you know, I didn’t really plan it, but it just slipped out and all…”

“Harry, what did you say?”

“I might have told Draco that I love him,” Harry blurted out all in one go.

“You might have or you did?!”

“I did!”

Hermione sighed. “As usual, Harry, your timing is awful. Not only was he doubting the entire foundation your relationship was built on, but then you went and made him feel like he was deluding himself and what you said couldn’t possibly be true.”

“So I fucked up?” Harry asked.

“Don’t worry, Harry,” Hermione said reassuringly, darting around the question. “Malfoy’s known you for seven years too and if he’s dating you, then he’s sure to be aware of your tendency to kind of blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.”

“Wonderful,” Harry groused. “How do I fix this, ‘Mione?”

“Well, he obviously came to you first,” said Hermione, “Which means he must have something to say. I suggest going to find him, and this time, actually listening to him. His fears are valid, and if you can’t recognize that, then he’s never going to fully trust you.”

“You’re the best, Hermione,” Harry exclaimed, jumping to his feet. “Hey, can you take my bag back to the castle when you head in?” He raced over to where he’d dropped his robe and shoes to furiously start putting them on. “By the way, there’s a present for you in there. Draco can tell you more about it if you’re curious.”

Hermione walked up the pebbly shore and watched with an amused smile on her face as Harry tried to stuff his left foot in his right shoe for a good moment before realizing his mistake with an awkward chuckle.

“Of course I can, Harry,” she smiled. “You know, I really can’t tell you how much better I feel after having this talk.”

“Me too, Hermione,” Harry responded sincerely, finally having put himself back to rights.

“Go on already,” she laughed. “Don’t you have a ferret to find?”

“Damn straight I do,” Harry said. “We’ll pick this back up later.”

“Of course we will,” said Hermione. “Now for Merlin’s sake, go already! The longer you leave Malfoy the more of a huff he’ll be in.”

She couldn’t be more right about that, Harry reflected as he threw a quick goodbye over his shoulder and left Hermione there at the Great Lake. Initially, he had no idea where to find Draco, but then Harry realized he’d gone into the Forest. Draco absolutely despised the Forest, and he’d have wanted to go somewhere where he felt safe. There was only one possible place where he could be.

With an increased sense of urgency, Harry ran for Dumbledore’s tomb, feet pounding hard into the ground in his haste to reach him. After he eventually skidded to a halt at the gravesite, scanning for Draco all the while, he finally found him, sitting in the exact same place against the white marble as he had been the last time they were together in this clearing.

“Hello, Potter,” said Draco without feeling.

“Draco,” Harry breathed. He knew things were still unresolved between them, but he wanted to make it as clear as possible to Draco that he was still entirely invested in their relationship. Without giving the matter any further thought than that, he threw himself at Draco, encasing him in a tight hug. Nuzzling Draco's neck and breathing in his comfortingly familiar smell, Harry finally felt like he was home.

After a moment, he noticed that Draco wasn’t hugging him back nearly as tightly, and that Draco didn’t seem comfortable at all. Taking a second to orient himself, Harry remembered Hermione’s advice to him. This wasn’t about him or how he was feeling, this was about Draco , and he would do well to remember that.

He drew back out of Draco's personal space, settling himself close to Draco should he want to reach out and touch Harry, but not so close as to crowd him.

“Do you want to talk?” Harry asked. Draco didn’t respond. He figured that yes, Draco  _had_ wanted to talk, but then the sight of Harry and Hermione back on such friendly terms had probably shaken his already unstable perspective.

The only thing to do was wait. Harry sat by Draco's side as the afternoon slowly turned to dusk, doing his best not to pressure Draco into speaking before he was ready. It was fully dark outside and Harry was starting to shiver before Draco finally started a dialogue.

“Does this change what you said before?” he asked, voice slightly shaking. Whether it was from nerves or from disuse, Harry did not know.

“Can you be more specific?” asked Harry calmly. “I want to make sure we’re both on the same page.”

Draco snorted. “Have you finally learned to think before you speak, Potter?”

Harry refused to be provoked by the jab. It _was_ true, after all.

After another couple of minutes, Draco finally elaborated. “Does your renewed friendship with Granger change what you said to me earlier today?” he asked. “That you – that you love me.” His cheeks flushed slightly as he finished his sentence.

“No, of course not,” Harry said, having expected this question. “Honestly, Draco, I don’t think anything could change the fact that I love you.”

“And you really mean that?” Draco asked quietly, flushing even more.

“Draco,” said Harry, “Can we talk about why you think I might not be telling the truth?”

“ _Harry_ ,” said Draco with a forced sense of patience. “I can’t begin to count the reasons why _I think_ you might not be telling the truth.”

“Humor me,” said Harry. “Start with the top reason, then, if you can’t name them all.”

“Let’s see,” said Draco sardonically, tapping his chin. “Oh yeah. The Dark Lord killed your parents and tried to kill you repeatedly for the majority of your life. My entire family and I fought _for_ the Dark Lord. I conspired with the Dark Lord and his army to turn Hogwarts into a battleground, where you watched your friends and family die.”

“You did,” said Harry conversationally. “But you made those choices to keep your family safe, because Voldemort would have surely killed them if you refused his service.”

“Your best friend was tortured in my house.”

“She was,” Harry responded. “You didn’t torture her though.”

“But I didn’t help her either!”

“You would have been tortured if you tried to help her. Besides, you helped by not identifying me.”

“I made school a living hell for you and your friends! And I tried to use an Unforgivable on you.”

“I did the same to you,” Harry shrugged. “And have you forgotten Snape dittanying your skin back together? Draco, I’ve already forgiven you for all of this. We agreed on a fresh start, remember? I can’t say the same for my friends, but you and I, we’re square.”

“But we’re not square,” Draco said miserably. “I can never repay you for what you’ve done, Potter. I can never prove myself to you; I can never prove that I’m not the git you grew up with.”

Having decided enough was enough, Harry turned to look Draco directly in the eyes. “But you already have,” he said, putting his hand on Draco's shoulder. “Since the end of the War, you’ve proved it to me a thousand times over. Sure, not everybody sees you the same way I do, but they’ve not really had a chance to.”

“I don’t think the public will ever see me in a different light,” Draco whispered. “My reputation precedes me.”

“Then we’ll just have to change their minds,” said Harry determinedly. “Even if it’s one person at a time.”

“Harry, seriously,” Draco said, slightly panicked. “Why do you feel this way about me?”

“It’s hard to put into words,” Harry said thoughtfully. “But I like your humor, mostly it’s not scathingly directed at me; I like that you can hold a conversation about anything, even if it’s only something I’m interested in; I like that you do little things to show that you care about someone, like when you brought Neville’s Fanged Geraniums extra flies because you remembered how he said they should be rewarded when they went long periods of time without biting someone. I like how you’re competitive and passionate and resilient.”

Draco's eyes were filling with tears. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he sobbed, throwing himself into Harry’s arms. Harry stroked his hair and held him tightly, praying that Draco never let go.

“So,” he said, trying to break the tension. “Would it be too soon to ask for a list of things you like about me?”

“You wanker,” Draco choked out, pulling himself upright so that he could look into Harry’s eyes. “I love you too, you know,” he whispered. “I have for a long time. I always thought that I would feel more strongly for you than you ever did for me, but I suppose you’ve managed to prove me wrong once again.”

“I’m just going to keep doing that,” Harry assured him, touching every part of Draco he could still reach. “Our entire relationship is going to be built on me proving you wrong.”

“Merlin, I certainly hope not,” laughed Draco. “Are you ready to go back to the castle? I’m freezing.”

“Thought you’d never ask,” said Harry. They stood up, but before they could start walking, Harry reached for Draco, who willingly leaned into Harry’s kiss. They stayed in a warm embrace for a moment, Draco tangling his hands in Harry’s hair, until finally the cold was too much and they were forced to relocate out of the wind.

As they walked up to the castle, Draco asked, “So did Hermione like the amigurumi otter?”

“Honestly,” said Harry, “I didn’t get a chance to ask her. I just kind of told her there was a present for her in my bag and then left her with it.”

Draco shook his head. “Potter, even after all this time with me, your etiquette skills still need improvement.”

“I thought you might have a conversation about it with her,” Harry said, smiling. “Hermione loves knitting, so it makes sense she would like crocheting too.”

“She might even like crocheting better,” said Draco excitedly. “Maybe she’d be willing to learn how to make amigurumi together?” he asked Harry hopefully. “Since, you know, other people have no interest in or talent for the craft,” he finished with a smirk.

“I’m sure she’d say yes,” Harry said. “Especially if you could tie it in with a social justice issue.”

Draco laughed at that, deep and throaty, and Harry finally felt like the earth was set back on its proper axis again. There still was the issue of Ron’s animosity and potential Wealsey disapproval along with the media frenzy, but with Draco back by his side, Harry felt like he was ready to tackle all the problems in the world.

Ƹ̴Ӂ̴Ʒ


	8. Affirmation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A series of altercations ends with Draco being sent to the Hospital Wing. Harry is not pleased, to say the least.

Ƹ̴Ӂ̴Ʒ

“– RONALD WEASELY – COMPLETELY APPALLED AT YOUR BEHAVIOR – DISGRACE TO THE ENTIRE FAMILY– AFTER SEVEN YEARS OF FRIENDSHIP – and Harry, dear – OF ALL THE YOUNG MEN TO DATE – PERFECTLY ASTOUNDED YOU CHOSE MALFOY –”

Molly Weasley’s voice echoed throughout the Great Hall, filling Draco with a keen sense of dread and anxiety. He’d only just managed to feel close again to Harry, and naturally something would have to interfere with his confidence in their relationship. And surely, he thought savagely, she was about to be responsible for the hearing loss of several witches and wizards.

Harry continued to clumsily eat breakfast, clutching Draco’s tightly with his own. He was using his dominant hand today, which was completely out of the ordinary; Harry liked to be able to stuff sausages uninhibitedly into his mouth and so Draco figured he was trying to prevent a situation similar to the one he’d incited after the media storm.

It was a shame, really. Draco actually had a lot of respect for Molly Weasley, especially after she vanquished his horrid Aunt Bellatrix in the War. He had hoped – for Harry’s sake especially – that she would find it in her heart to forgive him and begin anew. Guess that was one fantasy he could put out of his head.

The tirade went on for another minute as Harry calmly made conversation with Neville across the table and held onto Draco with a death-grip. Finally, Granger become visibly upset and cast a nonverbal spell at the Howler, exploding with a sharp _boom_ that reverberated, even more loudly, across the Hall.

“Thanks, Granger,” Draco said. He’d thought about obliterating the Howler as soon as it arrived in front of the eighth-year table, but thought others might not respond favorably.

“I primarily did it for Harry’s sake,” she sniffed, “But you’re welcome all the same, Malfoy.”

Weasley was giving Granger a betrayed look. Draco had to give her credit; she turned to him and snapped, “What, Ronald? Were you actually enjoying that?”

He attempted to flubber out a response, but Granger hoisted up her bag and stormed out of the Hall. For a moment, Draco wished he could follow her. He and Harry garnished a lot of attention, the kind he’d always longed for during his former school-days at Hogwarts, but now he couldn’t care less about being in the public eye. The only important thing was his education and Harry.

“Oi, Malfoy!” Weasley shouted.

Draco was afraid to acknowledge him. Easily slipping back into his Evil-Slytherin-My-Father-Will-Hear-About-This role, he simply pasted a sneer on his face and ignored the Weasel. He noticed Harry and Neville share a quick look of concern and feared the worst.

“Too good to look at me now, Malfoy? For fuck’s sake, you’re such a poofter!” sneered Weasley.

Again, Draco didn’t respond. He very carefully stabbed a bite of cantaloupe and chewed it methodically, tasting nothing.

“Watch what you’re calling my boyfriend!” snarled Harry. “You of all people should know not to fuck with me, Weasley.”

“Blimey, Potter,” Weasley continued sarcastically. “Mum was right to try and talk some sense into you. All of this shirt-lifting has obviously ruined your sense of – ”

Draco never got to find out exactly which sense of Harry’s had been ruined, because Harry furiously shoved his dishware and food off of the table in one fell sweep before reaching across the table and seizing Weasley by his collar to the gasps and shrieks of their fellow classmates.

“Let’s get something straight,” Harry hissed, viciously fending off Weasley’s attempts to free himself. “You don’t get to say shit about me and Malfoy.”

Weasley executed a maneuver Draco didn’t think he was capable of and retorted, “Seriously, I’d watch it if I was you. It’s not just Mum that feels this way, you know. It’s Ginny, and George –”

“I know what you are, coward,” Harry snarled, eyes glittering. “Stop threatening me with the loss of your family. It’s not going to work.”

There was another snarky comment forming on Weasley’s lips, but Professor McGonagall was already intervening. “Mr. Potter! Mr. Weasley! Of all the depraved behavior – I simply cannot fathom the example you’re setting for the younger students!”

“Sorry, Professor,” Harry said grimly, tone at odds with his words. “But some aren’t quite so _accepting_ of me and Draco’s relationship.”

McGonagall pursued her lips. “I shall pay Molly Weasley a fire-call this evening,” she said. “However, there is no excuse for this expression of brutality. You both will come with me.” Without glancing back, McGonagall exited the Great Hall. As Harry gathered his things with the intention of following her, Draco quickly stood and pulled him in for a kiss. Though saturated with Harry’s stress and rage, Draco relished the physical contact while Weasley glared on from across the table, blood dripping from his nose.

“Don’t let it get to you,” Draco whispered, even though personally he was deeply disturbed by the Weasel’s comments. In response, Harry simply squeezed Draco’s hand and kissed his cheek before striding off after McGonagall. Weasley followed in his wake, lumbering along like the troll Draco always secretly thought he was.

A laugh came from across the table. With annoyance, Draco noticed that – of course – it was Seamus Finnigan, his hateful roommate, reveling in the commotion caused by the fight.

“I mean,” said Finnigan loudly, “Everything Weasley said is true, of course. Seems like Malfoy could be taken off his pedestal even more, the right bastard.” Many of the former Gryffindors were glaring at him, along with some Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, but even more were nodding along. Though Draco hoped for Slytherin support, he didn’t think that Pansy and Blaise had yet forgiven him for taking up with Potter.

“Shut it, Finnigan,” said Neville derisively, sliding next to Draco into Harry’s empty chair. “I didn’t hear anyone asking for your opinion.”

This simply wouldn’t do. Ignoring one moronic idiot was fine, but someone else fighting a second battle for his sake would make him look weak. “That’s perfectly alright, Longbottom,” Draco announced, raising his voice so that the entire table could hear him. “If Finnigan wants to talk some shit, let’s hear him do it to my face.” He hadn’t wanted to be confrontational. He especially hadn’t wanted to reclaim parts of his old self, the pieces that enjoyed destroying those who questioned his position or authority, but Draco was not going to resign himself to a lifestyle of meekness and passivity.

“He speaks!” mocked Finnigan. “Aw, poor Malfoy – am I hurting your widdle feelings?”

Draco forced himself to laugh maliciously and project an air of easy confidence. “As if you have any effect on my person. Don’t make me laugh, Finnigan, unless it’s at your clown-like face.”

There were sniggers from the opposite end of the table, and Draco thought he recognized Blaise’s deep guffaw. Maybe his friendships with the former Slytherins were salvageable after all.

“Careful, careful, Malfoy,” Finnigan said. “We wouldn’t want your _boyfriend_ to have to come back and defend your honor if this goes any further.”

“Bring it on, Finnigan,” Draco said with a confidence that he felt. Really, though; it had been entirely too long since he properly dueled someone.

The fool had the audacity to stand up and point his wand directly at Draco’s face. It was slightly unnerving to be entirely at the mercy of a reckless, feckless Gryffindor, but Draco found himself hoping Finnigan actually went through with it and hexed him because that would justify his reaction. Draco remained seated, though he stared daggers at Finnigan’s muddy brown eyes, just daring him to attack.

Of course, right when he thought a third counterattack to use against him, Finnigan snorted out a laugh and sheathed his wand. “You’re not even worth it, Malfoy.”

Instead of replying, Draco nudged Neville and cockily breathed, “That’s because he couldn’t land a curse on me if he tried.”

“No kidding,” said Neville, shaking his head. “Come on, let’s get out of here. There’s better things to do than listen to Finnigan posturing like the half-wit he is.”

“Wasn’t there another section that needed repaired up on the seventh floor?” Draco inquired, neatly gathering his things in a pile on the table before him.

“Sure was,” Neville agreed, heaving a bursting bag over his shoulder. “We can get a crack on it before Harry gets back if we go now.”

They left the table and were halfway out of the Great Hall when Draco felt the rush of magic. He had thought Finnigan’s Gryffindor morals would prevent him from resorting to trickery, but the man apparently had no honor. Launching himself into a quick roll, Draco tumbled out of the way and watched wide-eyed as Finnigan’s spell careened into where he was standing only a second before. Draco’s heart sunk. He would have to respond in kind.

Throwing a Weasley-signature Bat-Bogey Hex back at Finnigan, Draco watched with satisfaction as the spell hit and great bats started flying out of his roommate’s nose. Unsurprisingly, he felt no remorse; there was only an overlying sense of satisfaction for having practiced nonverbal spells. They certainly came in handy.

All feelings were erased from Draco’s body as several disabling spells hit him at once, rendering him numb. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see several faculty members at the High Table standing up with wands raised. Apparently, defending himself was forbidden, Draco thought hazily as his mind began to blur.

“Draco!” he could hear Neville shouting as the world went black. His last thought was that hopefully Harry wouldn’t take anyone’s head off for this.

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Harry was going to have someone’s head for this. He’d been halfway through his meeting with McGonagall, narking on Ron for all the absolutely hateful things he’d said about Draco, when Neville’s Patronus came soaring into the room. When he learned that Draco had been disabled for simply retaliating after Finnigan attacked him _when his back was turned_ , Harry lost his temper at McGonagall.

“What is this, a school or a penitentiary!” he bellowed, crushing a ginger biscuit in his rage. “Draco’s being constantly supervised because of his past out of the fear he’ll put one toe out of line? Why wasn’t Finnigan detained before he cast at Draco? For fuck’s sake, he was pointing his wand in Draco’s face only a second before!”

McGonagall narrowed her eyes and Harry could see that it was clearly her first reaction to defend the Hogwarts teachers. As she opened her mouth to speak, he angrily burst out, “And don’t ‘Mr. Potter’ me either!”

“Mr. Potter!” McGonagall replied, scandalized. “I can assure you that this issue will be properly handled. Frankly, your audacity astounds me.”

Harry glared right back at her. “Professor, _frankly_ I no longer _care_ what you think.” He held eye contact for a second longer before throwing the biscuit crumbs on the floor and dashing out of her office.

Behind him, he could here McGonagall calling, “This meeting is not over, Mr. Potter!”

He made it to the hospital wing just in time to see Madam Pomfrey reviving Draco. Harry’s heart broke at the sight of him lying there, pale and pointed in the harsh infirmary light. As he decided whether or not to approach the bed and risk Madam Pomfrey’s wrath, Neville came over and clapped a hand down on Harry’s shoulder.

“I knew that they had extra eyes on Malfoy, but I didn’t know it was this bad,” Neville said grimly. “He took three Stunners, all from staff members.”

Harry shook his head. “I can’t fucking believe it,” he raged. “You said that Finnigan had his wand pointed at Draco and they just did nothing?”

“Apparently, they didn’t think ‘anything would come of the situation,’” Neville mocked, “‘Until they saw Mr. Malfoy disabled and accessing his magic with the intent to do harm.’”

“Of course he was going to do harm!” Harry shouted, knocking Neville’s hand off of his shoulder. “He was almost cursed by someone who’s had it out for him since the beginning of summer!”

“I know,” Neville said, trying to be soothing even through his own anger. “I told them that. I told them everything I knew you would have said, but I tried to make it sound more logical. They dismissed everything, said that they know best.”

“‘They know best,’” Harry said disbelievingly. After a second, anger and rage set back in. “‘I’ll give them ‘they fucking know best!’”

He was about to storm out of the infirmary and give all three a piece of his mind, but Draco began groaning miserably from across the room. Harry was at his side in two strides, Madam Pomfrey be damned.

“Hey, love,” Harry said, gently stroking Draco’s cheek. He swallowed his anger the best he could; Draco was what mattered right now.

“Harry,” Draco weakly mumbled back. “Everything hurts.”

“I know, love,” Harry soothed. “You took three Stunners. I’m surprised you’re even awake."

“I’d rather not be,” Draco whispered. “My head –” he broke off suddenly, and Harry could see his eyes filled with unshed tears of pain.

Without hesitation, Harry kicked off his shoes and climbed under the covers, cuddling Draco to his chest and gently massaging his scalp. He gave a soft cry, and Harry rubbed a little more softly.

Naturally, Madam Pomfrey picked that exact time to come back into the room. “Mr. Potter!” she cried disapprovingly. “Mr. Malfoy needs to rest. Get out of his bed!”

Harry was entirely tired of being ordered around. Funnily enough, adulthood sure didn’t feel like freedom, especially when his every move was being policed.

“Either I stay here with Draco, or I leave and take him with me,” Harry said threateningly.

“Mr. Potter –”

“Madam Pomfrey, I really don’t think he’s kidding,” said Neville quietly. “Wouldn’t it be better for them to both stay here so that Malfoy can have medical care?”

She stood, quivering, while Harry cradled Draco lovingly in his arms, silently vowing to protect him at all costs. “Rest assured I’ll be speaking to the Headmistress about this,” she said finally, leaving them alone.

“Please do that,” Harry muttered.

“Merlin,” Neville swore, shaking his head. “I can’t believe how interfering everyone bloody well is around here.”

They were silent for a moment, and then Harry broke the quiet. “I really don’t know how we’re going to stay, Neville.”

“I can’t see how either,” Neville admitted. “From what I’ve seen today, it’s not going to get better for Malfoy.”

They found out just how much worse things were going to get over the next two hours. Neville sat in a chair near Draco’s castle window, talking quietly with Harry while he did his best to help Draco through his pain. Madam Pomfrey had flat-out refused to give Draco a sedative or even something to numb the sensations until Harry accused her of withholding care just because she was angry with him.

Out of the blue, the infirmary door burst open and the chairman of the Hogwarts’ Board of Governors rudely burst in, Professor McGonagall following at his heels. “Minerva, the Board has made a decision. In light of this morning’s events, we demand that Mr. Malfoy be disciplined for his actions. We feel that twenty-four hour supervision and protective aids on Mr. Malfoy’s wand will be sufficient until further review.”

“– I simply cannot accommodate that request,” McGonagall said coldly. “Mr. Malfoy is a student here and cannot continue his education under lock and key.”

“He is a danger to others around him,” the chairman snapped. “When we agreed to fund the Hogwarts renovations, former Death Eaters were not the student body we had in mind.”

McGonagall’s expression could have cut glass. “Chairman, at Hogwarts, we do not _discriminate_ or even hold grudges. We will always welcome students home.”

 “We’ll see how long that lasts, Minerva,” spat the chairman. He went to approach Draco’s bed and was seemingly struck dumb by Harry’s presence, following his hand motions across Draco’s back.

“So it turns out our Chosen One is a poof, after all.”

“Chairman,” said Professor McGonagall acidly. “It’s time for you to leave Hogwarts. Know that I’ll actively be pursuing your resignation.”

 With another sneer at Harry and Draco, the chairman finally left, retorting “good luck” as he went.

After a short sigh of relief on everyone’s part, Professor McGonagall turned to Harry. “I meant what I said, Mr. Potter,” she said sharply. “You and Mr. Malfoy both shall always have a home here.”

“I appreciate that, Professor,” Harry said, making an effort to be sincere. “But Draco and I simply can’t live here any longer. He’s not safe, and apparently isn’t allowed to defend himself. I’ll always love Hogwarts, but he’s my home now.”

For a moment, McGonagall didn’t speak. Harry didn’t really know what she was going to say, if anything at all. Finally, she nodded. “Understandable. Perhaps I’ve been wrong in assuming that Hogwarts offers proper protection to all of its students. That would be ideal, but in your case especially, it’s certainly not the reality.”

Neville sighed sadly from his spot on the chair. McGonagall and Harry broke eye contact, and for a moment, he thought the conversation was over.

“Mr. Potter,” said McGonagall thoughtfully. “What of your and Mr. Malfoy’s education? You were both intending to take the NEWT exams, were you not?”

“We were,” said Harry.

“Might I suggest, then, that you and Mr. Malfoy find lodging off-campus and simply commute to Hogwarts for your daily classes?”

“That’s an option?” asked Harry in disbelief. He and Draco would have asked ages ago if they’d have known that was the case.

“It is now,” said Professor McGonagall firmly.

He didn’t know what to say. Eventually he settled on “thank you,” even though it didn’t seem nearly sufficient enough.

“We’ll finalize the details after you’ve made all the arrangements,” Professor McGonagall said. “I wish Mr. Malfoy the fullest of recoveries.” She turned to leave, and, as if it was becoming a common theme, Harry called after her. “Professor!” he said anxiously. “About what I said before –”

To his utter surprise, McGonagall smiled. “I thank you for that, Mr. Potter,” she said with a twinge of sarcasm, “For it was something that I needed to hear. Sleep well.”

Neville and Harry shared raised eyebrows behind her retreating back. “Are you going to need help packing?”

“If you’re willing to help,” said Harry, managing a weak smile.

“I can’t help but wonder,” Neville mused, “If things are going to be any better for Draco out in the Wizarding World.”

“I wonder too, but we can’t stay here either.”

There was a tentative knock on the door. After exchanging a look with Harry, Neville rose and opened it, wand at the ready. To their surprise, a sheepish Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini were standing at the threshold.

“Longbottom,” Zabini said. “We’ve come to see Draco.”

Wordlessly, Neville stepped aside and allowed the Slytherins to enter. They approached Draco’s bed without another word. It was awkward as they stared at the intertwined Draco and Harry, judgement clear in Parkinson’s eyes, but nobody disturbed the silence.

Though his eighth year classmates still raised Harry’s hackles, he tried to think about what Draco would want, knowing he’d been lonely without his friends. Kissing Draco’s forehead, he whispered, “Do you want a minute alone with them?”

Draco nodded, and Harry gave him a little squeeze before propping him up against the pillows and slipping out of bed.

“Thanks,” Zabini said sincerely, meeting Harry’s eyes. He simply gave a curt nod and walked out into the hallway with Neville, leaving Draco in the infirmary with his former friends.

Sliding down the wall onto the floor, Harry scrubbed his face with his hands. “I can’t stand leaving him in there with them,” he groaned. “But I’d never forgive myself if he resented me for keeping him from his friends.”

“He’s not going to choose them over you,” Neville said sensibly. “He loves you, Harry.”

Harry looked at Neville then, really looked at him, and saw the kindness and devotion in his eyes. “Mate, I’ve never thanked you properly.”

“For what?” laughed Neville.

“For everything,” Harry simply said.

“In that case, you’re welcome.”

They sat there in the corridor, squeezing each other’s hands, until Parkinson and Zabini finally left and Harry could return to Draco’s side.

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The grass was green and the gardens were exquisite, beautifully arranged in a way that reminded Draco of the extensively manicured Manor grounds. He loved the house he and Harry had purchased and would in turn make their own.

“Malfoy, will you come inside already?” Harry called from the kitchen. “The pancakes are getting cold!”

He smiled as he made his way across the land, breathing deeply to savor the fresh air. When Draco reached the back door and went to pull open the handle, Harry chastised, “Don’t go getting mud all over the floor again! You know I can’t do a proper Cleaning Charm.”

“Domestic refinements are always on the table, Potter,” Draco smirked. He internally laughed at that statement, knowing that his feet were muddy, his hands were caked with dirt, and his hair was a mussed wreck.

“What am I going to do with you,” Harry joked, crossing the kitchen with an apron around his waist. “I’d kiss you, but I just took a shower, thanks.”

As Draco went to sit down, Harry ran for the plastic cover they’d started using to protect the chair after long gardening sessions.

“Merlin,” Harry swore, “I don’t know what possesses you to get up at the crack of dawn and play in the dirt for hours, but the least you could do is not soil our furniture.”

He laughed. “Nice pun, Potter. I’d much rather soil you, though.”

Against his will, Harry laughed too. He served the pancakes, grabbing the butter from the fridge because he knew Draco preferred it over syrup. “You know, Malfoy, I think I’ll take you up on that offer.”

“Oh really?” returned Draco, feeling his eyes smile at Harry.

“Really,” Harry said, flirting back.

Draco could feel a blush rising on his cheeks. Though he’d meant to catch Harry off-guard, the thought he was finally ready to take their relationship one step further was an endearing – if nerve-wracking – one.

Spearing a bite of un-buttered pancake to cover his embarrassment, Draco concentrated on chewing so he didn’t have to provide an answer.

“You might want to clean yourself up first, though,” Harry said, neatly cutting his own pancakes, which were drenched in syrup. “As much as you know I dig the garden.”

 Against his will, Draco burst out laughing and sprayed his mouthful of pancakes all over the table. “Potter, will you ever get enough?” he cried, trying to come up with something – anything – to use as a retort.

“Never,” Harry said solemnly, and Draco could see the promise in his eyes.

The rest of breakfast passed in relative silence, Draco’s musings on what intimacy with Harry might be like outweighing his desire for conversation.

Once the last pancake had been shared between the two, Harry offered to clean up the dishes while Draco cleaned up. “Unless you want to, you know, go back out to the garden,” he mumbled, doing that thing where he scuffed the back of his hair in the way Draco found entirely too endearing.

Seeing visible evidence of Harry’s nervousness helped calm Draco’s nerves. “I’m showering right now,” he said, leaning down to kiss Harry without getting dirt all over him. “I’ll only be a short while.”

As he Vanished his filthy clothes right off of his body, Draco could hear Harry banging around the dishes in the sink. Apparently washing by hand instead of magic was his means of coping.

Draco couldn’t stop himself from getting hard when he started thinking about the wonderful range of possibilities for him and Harry to explore. The brisk shower was still too long, and Draco found himself rushing through his usually pristine grooming ritual, the idea of finally being with Harry spurring him on.

There didn’t seem to be much point in putting clothes back on, so Draco simply dried himself off and combed back his hair before heading into their shared bedroom and perching on the end of the bed. The sunlight streamed through the window, and he briefly closed his eyes in order to fully enjoy the warmth on his skin.

Suddenly, there was another touch, one softer and rougher at the same time. _Harry_.

Before Draco could speak, Harry closed the distance between them and gently kissed Draco’s lips. He allowed the kiss to remain chaste for a few breaths, stroking Harry’s messy hair, enjoying the simple contentedness between them, before softly nibbling at Harry’s bottom lip and nudging into Harry’s mouth with his tongue.

“Eager, are we?” said Harry, raising one eyebrow even as he nipped at Draco’s jaw.

“For you, Potter,” replied Draco, “Always.”

Harry gripped Draco’s wet blonde hair, delicately pulling him close enough to embrace. Their arms and legs intertwined, and soon Draco couldn’t tell where he ended and Harry began. As their kisses started to grow more and more heated, Draco tugged off Harry’s t-shirt and started lightly sucking marks into Harry’s neck.

“Mm,” groaned Harry. “That’s really nice, Draco.”

It wasn’t supposed to feel nice. Moving down to Harry’s collarbone, Draco sucked with more pressure, trying to leave a mark. Harry responded immediately to his ministrations; Draco could feel him growing harder through his pajama pants. As he pulled away to look Harry in the eye, Draco could see a trail of red marks across his chest and felt a small pull of satisfaction.

He tried to control the kiss again, to give Harry pleasure in a way only he could, but Draco quickly found himself losing control. Harry, it seemed, was determined to give to Draco in the same way Draco was determined to give to him. Apparently Harry was quite skilled at finding Draco’s sensitive spots, because when he nipped behind Draco’s ear, Draco moaned with pleasure. Before he could regain his sense of composure, Harry’s nimble fingers were tweaking his nipples, and apparently that was another erogenous zone, because he found himself lying horizontally on the bed with his towel dislodged to the floor and his erection proudly on display.

“Draco,” Harry breathed as he nipped behind his ear again, practically causing Draco to melt. Now he was gripping Draco’s bum, squeezing and teasing in a way that made Draco want to beg him to inch his fingers just a little further down.

Harry nudged his hand just a little closer, smiling as Draco sharply inhaled and spread himself wider. “Like that, do you?”

“Yes,” Draco managed, clutching Harry for support even though the bugger was enjoying unraveling him entirely too much.

He rubbed his hand in another teasing circle, finally pulling it fully away from Draco’s bum and resting it on his shoulder.

“You’re so sweet when we’re like this,” Harry said endearingly.

“I’ll give you sweet.” In a moment of pure self-control, Draco wrestled Harry to the bed and pinned his hands above his head. Once he was sure there would be no more fighting he released them and started kissing his way down Harry’s chest, swirling his tongue around Harry’s nipples in a way that was sure to drive him mad.

Draco thoroughly enjoyed his turn destroying Harry’s composure, enjoying every little sound he could entice out of him. When he finally took a deep breath and went to lick Harry’s cock, Harry pulled Draco up to join their lips.

After a breathless kiss, Harry said, “There’s an easier way” and flipped Draco’s body around. It was much easier this way, and Draco concentrated hard on giving the best pleasure he knew how. Draco soon discovered that Harry’s balls were very sensitive, and, when combined with a sucking and swirling motion over the tip, caused his jaw to go slack around Draco’s cock. He also discovered that Harry liked when his cock was deep down Draco’s throat and became quite erratic with pleasure when Draco held his hips down.

Draco learned that he quite liked both of these things as well, but he made an even more exciting discovery: he liked having his bum played with. Harry took his fingers and wet them before lightly rubbing the outside of Draco’s hole, which instantly made him harder and all the more turned-on. When Harry gently a finger inside Draco, he immediately clenched around it and held; enjoying the burn but also a little nervous that it was going to hurt. But Harry continued his ministrations on Draco’s cock, wetting his finger more before pushing it back inside again and feeling around. It was strange until he brushed over something inside Draco that enhanced all of his sensations, and he found himself crying out in pleasure, begging Harry to continue pressing into that spot.

As he got closer and closer to climax, Draco’s mouth became wetter and he sucked Harry harder in an effort to bring them both off at the same time. When Harry slicked up another finger and slid two inside, stimulating the prostate with every thrust, Draco found himself fucking himself back into Harry’s hand, clenching around his fingers as he came longer and harder than he’d probably ever before. Draco’s vision blacked out for a moment as he came in Harry’s mouth and as, a few breaths later, Harry came down his throat.

After, as their breathing returned to normal, Draco was overwhelmed with sleepiness and the desire to cuddle. He fought the lethargy overwhelming his body, rotating around and climbing back up to Harry.

“That was amazing,” Draco whispered, nuzzling into Harry’s neck.

“It was incredible,” Harry agreed, stroking Draco’s hair.

“I hate to say you’re right,” grumbled Draco, “But I’m glad we waited.”

“I love you, you know that?”

“I love you too.”

With that, they snuggled closer into each other and fell into a deep sleep, though reality was finally better than their dreams.

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	9. Reconciliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Hermione establish a working relationship; Harry receives an invitation to brunch at the Burrow.

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“You would need to mix the yolk from a silver goose’s egg with the mothwing dust, stirring counter-clockwise approximately seven times, before adding it to the other ingredients.”

“Wonderful, Mr. Malfoy. Take 10 points to – oh, wait. Nonetheless, that’s excellent work, my boy.”

It was getting easier and easier to slip back into performing as the Malfoy he’d been before the War. Draco wasn’t worried about anyone hexing him, not after how things had gone down last time, and was steadily reclaiming some of his old behaviors, however petulantly. There were many he retired for good, but some would probably always be part of him. Like his tendency to try and outshine Granger in everything academic and take the title of class valedictorian. The victory was so sweet, he could almost taste it.

“Actually, Professor,” came Granger’s annoyingly high-pitched voice. “If you scramble the yolk before adding the mothwing dust, that will produce a clearer, crisper result than simply mixing the two together.”

Slughorn briefly tested her technique before offering congratulations. “What a fantastic way to refine the traditional technique, Ms. Granger. Hmm, I wonder,” he mused. “With a little polishing, I think you could go ahead and publish that discovery.”

Granger beamed. Draco scowled, but secretly felt a wave of comfort hit. This was normal, Granger showing him up in class. Her intuitions didn’t take away from his knowledge, but, as usual, she bested him (seemingly) without trying.

“Alright there, Malfoy?”

“Naturally, Granger. I must congratulate you on that most original insight.”

“I was surprised that you knew as much as you did. Most people have never heard of the Obfuscation Elixir.”

“It was administrated frequently in my household.” Merlin, now he’d gone and said too much.

Surprisingly, Granger took the admission in stride. “Certainly not to you, I’d hope?”

Draco found himself chuckling. “Father tried once, but his intentions were quelled once Mother cottoned on.”

“Good thing for you that she was around.”

“Very much so.”

There was an awkward pause. Slughorn had gone back to grading papers, and the rest of their very small Advanced Potions class was digging ingredients out of the cupboards in preparation for their first try at the elixir.

He cleared his throat. “Say, Granger – Slughorn doesn’t mind if we work in partners for the assignments. Did you want to show me your technique up close?”

“If you’d like me to, seeing as it’s rather simple.” She wasn’t going to make this easy for him, but at least it wasn’t an outright rejection.

“I would,” Draco said decisively.

Another pause. “Let’s grab ingredients, then.”

They walked to the cabinet side by side, not together, but not separately either. It was an exhilarating feeling, being on the verge of making another friend that wasn’t Harry or Longbottom _and_ one that could keep up with Draco’s academic interests. When Pansy and Blaise came to see him in the Hospital Wing, they’d expressed concern and regret, but not a desire to renew their friendship. Draco understood. Should one of his former acquaintances take up with a squad of Gryffindorks, he’d have reservations as well.

They set up their stations and cobbled together all of the necessary ingredients, grouping them together instead of in two separate piles. Draco set up the cauldrons and Granger lit the burners, taking care not to catch his long sleeves on fire. With one book between them, they took the first steps towards making the potion.

“–If you powder the mothwings–”

“–I can scramble the yolks–”

Granger smiled sheepishly back. Draco decided it would be best to get the process moving and snatched the jar of whole mothwings, dumping out the quantity he’d need to powder. Beside him, Granger worked just as efficiently cracking the silver goose eggs and scrambling them, not spilling a drop.

“Now, if you’ll add a pinch of the dust,” Granger said, watching Draco powder the mothwings. He extracted a literal pinch off of the counter and tossed it into the bluish-silvery mixture, watching carefully as Granger carefully stirred seven times. The liquid shimmered, and, in light of the accomplishment, Granger’s eyes positively glowed in response.

“Well done,” he offered, not grudging any longer.

An odd feeling filled Draco as Granger turned her light-filled eyes on him, nearly beaming. “Let’s see if we can make a go of this, Malfoy,” she said. “I’ll cut and assemble the first five items on the list, and you’ll do the rest?”

He gave the ingredients a quick once over and noticed though he’d have six to prepare, she’d taken one of the more tedious tasks – preparing the beetle’s eyes. In all, it was a completely fair trade-off.

Nodding once, Draco mentally listed the steps he’d have to complete and chose to start with the asphodel – the most difficult of his six – first. They worked together in silence, Granger efficiently quartering the beetle’s eyes while Draco chopped, diced, and crushed the roots and seeds. Draco had always been expert at Potions; but then again, so had Granger. Their ingredients were prepared in record time.

“Ready to add?” Granger asked briskly, tying back her bushy hair.

“Quite ready,” Draco replied. “Half the beetle’s eyes first, I’d say?” Their book called for all of the beetle’s eyes to be added, but there was a practical reason why Draco chose to hold off on the second half.

He didn’t offer Granger his reasoning. She looked thoughtful for a moment, tapping anxiously on the tabletop before suddenly lighting up with understanding.

“The aftertaste,” she said eagerly. “Adding half of the beetle’s eyes initially and the other half after, oh, after the asphodel dissolves removes the aftertaste!”

Draco smiled. Her enthusiasm was surprisingly contagious, and it _was_ quite nice to have a partner who cottoned on quickly for a change.

“I can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner!” Granger exclaimed, distraught.

“Well, Granger,” he said smoothly. “You can’t make all the discoveries in our class, after all.”

“Stuff it, Malfoy,” she said good-naturedly. “If we don’t get these in there, our yolk-mothwing mixture’s going to spoil.”

He tossed the quartered beetle’s eyes in, internally cringing as the squishy texture came into contact with his hand. Completely in synch, Granger snagged his chopped asphodel and dropped the pieces in, one by one. Again, Draco was impressed – like his, Granger’s knowledge of potion-making stretched far beyond the textbook.

They continued down the ingredient list, Draco stopping Granger from adding one too many mistletoe berries and Granger stopping Draco from adding an unnecessary counter-clockwise stir after every seventh clockwise. “That makes it too viscous,” she explained quickly.

There wasn’t much need to consult the textbook. If a mistake was in the process of being made, the other caught it before it actually happened. They both seemed to have photographic memories of what each step called for and knew how to achieve better results than the actual author. Draco found himself in the middle of a potion-making experience far beyond anything he’d ever achieved by himself. He and Granger moved as one entity, stirring, adding, and tweaking as if they’d been partners for years instead of mere minutes.

“Mr. Malfoy and Ms. Granger!” crowed Slughorn, “What a marvelous effort!”

Draco suspected Slughorn didn’t see – or even know – all the ways in which he and Granger had refined the potion. Nonetheless, they accepted his congratulations with good grace and went back to adding the last few ingredients.

“Malfoy,” said Granger suddenly, as their frantic pace finally slowed, “While this brews, we should make a comprehensive list of all the ways in which we altered the recipe.”

He wondered at her motivations. “I concur,” Draco replied. “Any particular reason why?”

“I was thinking about what Slughorn said before. About publishing.”

Warning bells went off in his head. Did she intend to take the fruits of their labor and leave him out of the final product?

“–he’s really quite right, you know, and, to be quite honest, Malfoy, you can still be a right little berk sometimes, but you’re actually not so awful anymore.”

“Thanks?” he offered.

“You’re welcome. So do you think it’s worth the effort? You’d have to help, of course, it’s only right, since we used a lot of your innovations as well–”

“Are you asking me to co-publish with you?” Draco couldn’t quite keep the surprise out of his voice.

Granger rolled her eyes. “I’ve only been trying to ask you that for the last _five_ _minutes_ , Malfoy. In addition, I think we should partner up for the rest of the year. No one else has even come close to our shared level of productivity.”

“Same,” Draco said, surprising himself yet again. “It’s so _refreshing_ to work with someone who actually understands potions theory.”

Granger laughed. “You might not want to mention “potions” and “theory” in the same sentence to Harry.”

“It’s quite a mystery how it’s not a turn on for him,” Draco laughed, momentarily forgetting Granger was one of Harry’s closest friends. His memory rushed back as her face took on an expression of horror. He imagined their new partnership flying out the window and angrily rebuked himself until she suddenly burst out laughing.

“You’re forward,” Granger said, still grinning. “And cheeky. I think I can get along with this new Malfoy.”

“I’ve always been this witty, Granger,” Draco said. “You’ve just not been around to appreciate my brilliance.”

He was treated to the most enormous eye roll he’d ever seen; and, after years of friendship with Pansy, that was saying something.

“I’ll grab the glass bottles; you’ll pour the finished potion.” Granger directed, flouncing off to grab the appropriate flasks. Draco glanced around the room and noticed how there wasn’t another pair with more than three-quarters of the recipe completed. He smiled. Granger was strangely companionable. Maybe this could all work out for the better.

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They were getting evicted. Apparently, the seller had learned that Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater, would be occupying the residence along with Harry Potter, Chosen One and Saviour, and so he’d backed out of Escrow.

Harry’s heart dropped as he held the documents that’d arrived only moments before. Draco was going to be so disappointed. Even if they went to live at Grimmauld Place, which Harry was rather hesitant to do, anyway, they’d still be losing their home; the one they’d already started making happy memories in. He was equally hesitant to move into the Manor, even though Draco would have full access to the expansive gardens.

He tried to burn off some steam by uttering a variety of curse words that grew fouler and more vulgar by the second, but all he could see were delicious pancake breakfasts and a flushed Draco covered in mud, laughing at Harry’s horrible garden puns.

Would it be better to hide the news from Draco, to let him enjoy their last week in the dream house together, or tell him right away? Undoubtedly, he was going to be upset either way. Harry rather thought Draco would accuse him of having trust issues again if he didn’t disclose immediately.

With a sigh, Harry pocketed the letter – strongly refraining from ripping it up and mushing it into pulp – and made his way to Hogwarts for his afternoon classes. Thank Merlin he’d been able to talk his advisor into that free period. He resolved to tell Draco after Transfiguration, their one shared class.

The day went by in a bit of a blur. He practiced Protean Charms, which Hermione had used in their fifth year for enchanted Galleons, and which Draco had used during sixth year to communicate with fellow Death Eaters. Harry struggled to reconcile his Draco with the one he’d known at school, trying desperately to forgive Draco for his past actions. He reminded himself that he hadn’t been such a saint, either, and that Draco never wanted to kill anyone.

He’d managed to get into a productive headspace before the end of Charms, moving seamlessly through Herbology (though working in the dirt reminded him _again_ of Draco in the garden and that, by this time next week, they’d no longer have a home) and grabbing a quick bite before dashing over to Transfiguration.

The Transfiguration classroom was small. Harry looked around – Draco was usually here by now, eager for Harry’s presence to revitalize him enough to make it through their last class of the day. Frowning, Harry slumped down into one of the desks farthest from the door and waited. Other eighth years hoping for a NEWT in Transfiguration trickled in, about half of them offering Harry a greeting, even though the media shitstorm about him and Draco hadn’t died down in the slightest.

Finally, the oak wooden door swung open, and Draco walked in astride Hermione Granger. Harry’s jaw dropped in surprise; not only was Draco laughing merrily, he had his outer cloak (which he always drew around him like a shield) casually tossed over his shoulder as to reveal his Hogwarts sweater. In a very odd way, it was almost like the old days when Draco would strut around the school and Harry would be drawn to his every motion. Only now, Harry could see the genuine enjoyment on his face, could notice the way confidence was slowly inscribing itself back into Draco’s posture. He’d never seen Malfoy look sexier, honestly.

“Harry!” cried Hermione. He quickly closed his jaw and sat up straight, plastering a smile on his face before Draco could cast scrutinizing eyes at him. “Harry,” she repeated, more quietly, once they’d clambered into the desks nearest Harry. “Why didn’t you tell me that Malfoy crochets? I’ve wanted to learn for _ages_ now; knitting’s not really a challenge, not anymore, and that amigurumi you two bought me was just adorable –”

She was cut off abruptly as their new Transfiguration professor strode into the room. Harry did his best to quell his jealousy as Draco and Hermione passed notes during the entire lecture; they silently Vanished the parchment, after adding their response, and then made it reappear on the other’s desk. Like Professor McGonagall had so eloquently stated, Vanished objects went into everything, and Harry couldn’t possibly fathom how they were extracting the parchment from nonbeing and bringing it back into reality.

Their written conversation carried on throughout class. Though they wouldn’t obviously be talking anyway, Harry felt quite ignored by the end of the lesson. Sometimes Draco would catch his eye, and they’d share a secret, private smile, but there was none of that today. Instead, when the professor asked them to practice the concept, Draco and Hermione cast quickly, demonstrating their mastery of the skill, and then went right back to their conversation about crocheting. While he was in the middle of third attempt at casting correctly, Harry caught a glimpse of the parchment – Draco had even taken to drawing crochet chains and stitches to properly inform Hermione of the different techniques.

After what seemed like forever, the class ended, and students slowly trickled out.

“This has been wonderful, Malfoy,” gushed Hermione, “But Arithmancy starts in ten minutes, and I promised Professor Vector I’d help lead a review session about one of the concepts.”

“Not a problem,” said Draco smoothly. “So, about tonight – I’ll bring the hooks; you’ll take care of the yarn?”

“Absolutely,” replied Hermione. Before turning to leave, she pulled Harry into a quick hug and told him that it was good to see him.

Confused, Harry watched her dash out of the classroom as Draco started packing up his materials.

“Honestly,” said Draco, slightly muffled as he carefully inserted his favorite quill into the very bottom pocket of his bag, “I could just murder my past self for not befriending Granger. At the risk of sounding really cheesy, she’s a genius.”

He’d always known that Draco and Hermione were both extremely intelligent. It only made sense that they’d be able to communicate on a different plane than he and Draco could. But everything felt nonsensical as Harry tried to deal with the fallout of his jealousy.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Harry said, trying (and failing) to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “We’ve been friends for seven years.”

If he hadn’t been looking, Harry wouldn’t have noticed the hurt pass over Draco’s face.

Expecting some sort of shouting match about how he should want Draco to make friends, about how he should be happy someone was willing to befriend him; Harry was taken aback when Draco spread his arms and enclosed him into the biggest, warmest bear hug they’d ever given each other.

He felt tears spring to his eyes as Draco whispered in his ear, “I’m sorry I neglected you today. Transfiguration is kind of our time, isn’t it?”

Harry could only whisper back “it is,” and then, after another moment, “I’m sorry.” Draco hugged him tighter until Harry felt himself melt.

“There’s something I have to tell you,” he mumbled, once he felt like things were finally right again.

Pulling back slightly, Draco gave him an inquisitive look. Even though they’d just reaffirmed their relationship, Harry could see all of Draco’s insecurities written clear on his pale, pointy face.

“It’s nothing like that,” he said hastily, ghosting his hand over Draco’s cheek. “But it’s not great, either.”

Draco stepped back to lean casually against the desk, though Harry could see his fingers trembling. “Out with it, Potter,” he demanded.

“Our house,” Harry sighed, unable to meet Draco’s eyes. “Draco, the seller backed out of the sale.”

Across from him, Draco sank down from the desk to the floor, pulling his knees into his chest and massaging his temples with the palms of his hands. “This entire year is a nightmare.”

Harry lowered himself to the floor too and wrapped Draco back up in his arms, making soft, soothing noises. After a moment, Draco leaned into Harry’s touch. “I was looking forward to passing out candy, too. To the, what did you call them? Treat or trickers?”

“Trick or treaters,” Harry corrected automatically. “And at least we’re homeless together, right?”

It was enough for Draco to crack a tiny smile. “I suppose we do have options, should we take the time to consider them.”

“Shall we consider them over a pint, then?”

“That sounds perfect, actually.”

As they packed up their school bags, Harry thought of what would come after the pub. Of where they would go. He personally couldn’t think of spending another night in the house that would not become their home.

Fortunately, Draco seemed to be on the same page, because he said, “And I want all of our possessions out of that house tonight, Potter, so don’t even think about getting yourself plastered at the pub.”

“Deal,” Harry said, feeling very much like as long as he had Draco with him, he’d always have his home.

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They ended up finding a new place to live (after two weeks of reluctantly splitting their nights between the Manor and Grimmauld Place) in Hogsmeade sometime during the first week of November. It was a shoddy studio flat, with a small kitchen and an even smaller closet – much to Draco’s despair – but the owner wasn’t prejudiced, the neighbors were never home, and they were within walking distance of Hogwarts. Neither was willing to immediately consider buying again, not after how quickly they’d lost their dream house.

The cold seemed to seep into the flat through the windows, and, from there, right into Draco’s bones. He cast three industrial-strength Warming Charms, even though he was still frighteningly cold after each one, and finally resorted to stuffing towels under the door cracks and putting thin plastic up over the windows. Nothing helped. Eventually, Draco put on one of Potter’s horrible, hideous Christmas sweaters and went to hide under a blanket on the sofa. He studied for his Potions exam until Harry came barreling in the door two hours later.

“Merlin,” he snarled, kicking off his trainers and chucking his cloak onto the ugly coat stand – when he came to help them move for a second time, Neville swore it looked like a troll – before plopping down on the sofa next to Draco, trembling with energy. “I could just _murder_ that old bint.”

“Which one?” Draco asked mildly. He was never overly surprised to see Harry riled up, even with all of the traumatic events that’d been happening as of late.

“Molly Weasley!” Harry bellowed, throwing himself back off of the sofa so that he could angrily pace around the room.

Draco arranged his face as to convey polite inquisition, not his overwhelming fear that Harry was about to be forcibly taken away from him.

“You see, Malfoy,” Harry said, still treading the carpet bare, “My presence for Weasley family brunch has been _requested_ this Sunday morning in an _express_ invitation.”

“Are you going to accept?”

“They’ve made it impossible for me to refuse!” shouted Harry, stopping in his tracks to glare properly at Draco.

“Couldn’t you simply send a kind note with your regards?”

“That’s not the way this one works,” Harry grumbled. The wind seemed to finally blown out of his sails and so he arranged himself comfortably on the sofa next to Draco. “Molly wants to apologize for the Howler and duly note all of her concerns at the same time.”

Even to Draco, that sounded manipulative, and he’d grown up in a serpent’s nest full of Malfoys and Death Eaters.

“You’re probably not going to believe me, because we both know I’m usually really dense about these things,” said Harry. “But I’m pretty convinced that me being a continued part of the Weasley family is contingent on me accepting this invitation and attending the brunch.”

“That actually sounds like a really smart deduction, Potter.”

“There’s another thing I have to tell you.” Harry groaned. “Why is there always another thing?”

“Let me guess,” Draco surmised, “For one, I’m not invited. And for two, your Weasley status is also contingent on you distancing yourself from me.”

“You’re absolutely right on the first count, and, honestly, I’m not sure about the second one,” Harry said, ruffling his hair into a right state. “But that’s not happening anyway.” There was a dark look in his eyes, and Draco didn’t doubt for a moment that Harry really meant it.

There were a few moments of silence. Then Harry said, “I’m just not ready to give them up.”

“I’d never ask you to give up your family,” Draco said quietly.

“I know you never would,” Harry affirmed. “But I really do believe that, once you’re an adult or whatever, you should put your partner first. It’s not just out of necessity, Draco, I _want_ to put you first. I want to put _us_ first. And the idea of going to this brunch makes me feel like I wouldn’t be doing that.”

Draco loved the idea of being Harry’s number one, but he also knew when to keep quiet. This was a decision Harry had to absolutely come to on his own. He could offer no solutions here, only support.

They sat together quietly on the sofa well into the night. It was nearly midnight before Draco went to fold his blanket up, afterwards brushing his teeth and falling into bed. Harry followed him, gently snuggling against Draco and nuzzling into his neck.

Enjoying the comfort and warmth, Draco was just about to fall asleep when he heard Harry whisper, “Would you be willing to come with me?”

He waited a moment before responding. Come with Harry to the Weasley’s Sunday brunch? That sounded like a recipe for disaster. However, it made sense as a logical approach; Draco’d actually had to exercise his self-control to refrain from suggesting that option. This way, Harry would be demonstrating his willingness to be a part of the Weasley family while still reinforcing his commitment to Draco. The Weasleys would be forced to recognize Harry alongside Draco or reject him outright. There were several other in-between options, mostly involving various sorts of snubs, but Draco refused to let himself dwell on those.

“I would love to,” he finally whispered back, rotating around to kiss Harry properly. They stayed curled up together for the rest of the night.

 

Sunday did not come quickly, even as much as Draco was dreading it. Their nights were spent in cold squalor – they’d discussed moving on a more permanent basis back to Grimmauld Place or the Manor, but Draco was dead set on having their own space away from any ghosts and Harry was reluctant to make Neville help them move for a third time – and their days were spent at Hogwarts, suffering through long class lectures and even longer study sessions. NEWTs were quickly approaching, and Hermione was determined not to let either of them forget it. Saturday was spent in the library studying, and they were actually productive; Draco made it through over two thirds of the recommended review topics for Potions and coached Harry through the first third. They celebrated with a pint and hurried blow jobs in the loo of the pub.

When the big day did arrive, however, Draco was surprisingly calm and collected. He took deep breaths and tarried in the shower, determined to soak up as much positive energy as possible. Merlin knew he’d need it.

Harry wore simple slacks and a semi-dressy black v-neck shirt, so Draco followed suit with a nice pair of black trousers and a silver button down. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever have the option of wearing short sleeves around the Weasleys.

They arrived precisely at eleven, though Harry was hesitant to knock on the door. Draco ended up doing the honors. Any other time and he would have made a crack about how he wasn’t sure if the house would come crashing down or not from just the simple touch, but he thought it best not to rile an already-quivering Harry. Not that he would mention to Harry that he was quivering, either. The stubborn prat had been insisting all morning that no, he was _not nervous_ , Draco, and that’s final.

The Weaselette answered the door, and Draco couldn’t be happier to see someone who was not the matron Weasley or the Weasel himself. However, they hadn’t been expecting a warm greeting, and they weren’t disappointed.

“Harry!” she hissed, looking frantically back and forth between Harry and Draco. “Why did you _bring_ him? Mum specifically told you not to!” the Weaselette took a deep breath before continuing. “For Merlin’s sake, now she might not let you in the house.”

The door was pulled open behind the Weaselette, and all three jumped in surprise. Draco couldn’t help breathing a sigh of relief to see that it was just one of the Weasely twins, the one who lost his counterpart in the War. He definitely experienced a rush of guilt over that, especially as the twin – George, Draco thought his name was – rushed through the doorway and pulled Harry into a huge hug, on the doorstep and all.

“Great to see you, mate!” George smiled, cuffing Harry on the back of the head. “Blimey, it’s been ages since we’ve had you ‘round for a proper meal.”

The Weaselette disappeared back inside with an apologetic expression, leaving the three of them on the front stoop.

Draco decided it was a good time to get at least one Weasely on their side, especially since George already seemed to be in Harry’s favor. He extended a hand, taking care not to focus for an unseemly amount of time on George’s missing ear. “Pleased to be reacquainted, Weasley.”

With only a slightly suspicious glance, George took Draco’s hand and shook it. “Good to see you too, Malfoy.”

“I’d like to officially apologize for everything I did or said to you at school,” Draco said, trying not to cringe from the awkwardness of the situation. “I’m hoping we can have a fresh start.”

George met Draco’s eyes as if searching for maliciousness or deceit. Finally, he nodded and said, “Likewise.”

There was a silent moment when Harry and George seemed to have a silent conversation through eye contact. If Draco didn’t know about Harry’s abysmal Legilimency skills, he’d have suspected that they were communicating by mind. After some time, George nodded and clapped Harry on the shoulder again, as if he’d understood something meaningful.

“I’ve got to warn you though, mate,” he said cautiously. “Mum’s on the warpath. She’s furious you’re with Malfoy now. Dad’s reserving judgement, though he’s definitely not fond of the Malfoy family. Well, you already know how things are with Ron, and I’m sure you’re not surprised Percy’s gone and taken his side; we thought he was done being a prat after the War and all, but now he’s even more of a wanker than he was before…”

The door flew open, and all three of them jumped rather guiltily.

“Harry, dear!” exclaimed Mrs. Weasley. She too stepped out onto the stoop, pulling Harry against her bosom in a tight hug. “So good to see you. You do quite look like you could do with some more meat on those bones. Why don’t you come inside and have some brunch?”

They seemed to have been invited into the house, and the flavorful aromas were making Draco salivate; they hadn’t eaten their normal breakfast that morning in anticipation of a good old fashioned Weasley meal. Harry warned him that, if things went well (which neither of them anticipated but still hoped for anyway), Molly would be heaping seconds and thirds onto both of their plates. He couldn’t wait to get inside and try some of that food.

George followed his mother into the house, but as Harry went to step through the doorway, Mrs. Weasley turned back around and said, “Food is for family only, dear. I’m sure you both understand.”

Draco felt rather than saw Harry’s anger. “Well then Draco should be joining us at the breakfast table,” he said through clenched teeth. “By all means, he’s my family too now.”

“Are you married?” Mrs. Weasley asked pleasantly. Behind her, Draco could see George shaking his head.

Dumbfounded, Harry met Mrs. Weasley’s eyes, and Draco witnessed the silent battle of wills between them. It was a showdown almost as intense as some of the ones he’d had with Father during his later school years.

“Harry, dear,” said Mrs. Weasley, the self-declared victor, “Won’t you come in and have some brunch?”

Harry reached out and took Draco’s hand. “Thanks for the invitation,” he said, just as pleasantly as Mrs. Weasley. “But I won’t be dining without Draco.”

“Do remember, dear, that the invitation still stands,” said Mrs. Weasley, smiling. “Whether you end up coming by on a Sunday in a few weeks, a couple months, or even a year.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it, Molly,” said Harry. “Smart money says the next time you’ll see me then will be at my and Draco’s wedding.”

Without another word, but still with a simpering smile on her face, Mrs. Weasley closed the door, cutting off the delicious aromas coming from within.

For the first time since they’d arrived, Draco caught Harry’s eyes. There was sadness there, but also finality and courage.

“Don’t even say it,” said Harry, cutting off Draco’s attempt to speak. “I don’t regret the decision I made. In fact, I’m thrilled with it.” He smiled almost devilishly at Draco, taking his hand. “You know why?”

“Why?” asked Draco, suddenly unable to breathe.

“Because, Draco Malfoy, I have every intention of marrying you. It’s not the question of if; it’s the question of when.” Harry’s smile turned sheepish. “That is, if you accept my proposal.”

“Yes,” said Draco, drawing him into a passionate kiss right there on the Weasleys’ stoop. “Harry, yes. A thousand times yes.”

“I love you,” Harry whispered into Draco’s ear, kissing him lovingly on the cheek.

Draco smiled, returning his affections by giving Harry an enthusiastic butterfly kiss. “I love you too, Potter.”

Ƹ̴Ӂ̴Ʒ


	10. Reparation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Draco have an interesting time at the Burrow. When they get home later that night, they take their relationship one step further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! What a wild ride - or, should I say, a sappy one. XD You'll enjoy this chapter, especially after the last one I put you through. It ended up being super long too; I usually write 5000 word chapters, but this one's closer to 7000. The rest of the story is outlined, so you can expect six more chapters. Drop me a comment if you're enjoying so far!
> 
> I also recommend listening to [this wonderful amazing song](https://open.spotify.com/track/2ZtMNYog671T0UFfp0hhWq) as you read. I had it on repeat while I was writing, and it just perfectly captures the mood I was trying to get across.

Ƹ̴Ӂ̴Ʒ

It was a bittersweet moment. Harry’d known he wanted to spend the unforeseeable future with Draco, but he hadn’t wanted to propose at such an awkward time; something to be seen as an act of rebellion instead of an act of love. As usual, he’d acted first and decided to think about the consequences later. But there still wasn’t enough time to consider them properly.

“Let’s go home,” Harry said resolutely to Draco. He was certain the blonde was fixated on his disagreement with Molly, but there wasn’t much he could do about the situation now. He hadn’t grown up with a real family of his own, but if there was one thing Harry _was_ certain of, it was that family should accept each other unconditionally. Sure, Molly welcomed him with open arms, but she wasn’t willing to accept Draco.

He was also certain that Molly considered their relationship to be a passing phase, something he would grow out of after the initial shock of the War ended. But deep down, Harry knew he and Draco were meant to be together. Fate kept them on opposite sides for years, but despite that, they’d been strangely drawn to each other in ways that couldn’t be dismissed as rivalry or even jealousy. Though they definitely didn’t _need_ the other to make them whole, Harry couldn’t deny that Draco complemented him, and vice versa.

“After you, Potter,” answered Draco, gesturing for him to Apparate away.

As Harry got ready to turn on the spot and disappear, the front door burst open yet again and George dashed out, panting.

“Wait!” he shouted, attempting to pull on worn leather Wellington boots. “Ginny and I figured this is how Sunday brunch would go down, honestly. We picked up some ready-made food from the shops just in case; put it under a Stasis Charm and all. It’s nothing like Mum’s cooking, but we’d be delighted to visit with you and Draco if you’d like to stay and eat.”

Harry was touched beyond words. He met Draco’s eyes and could see his own wonder and surprise reflected within them.

“We’d be delighted,” said Draco, recovering first. Though he usually didn’t smile in social situations, Harry could see the warmth in Draco’s eyes.

Without speaking, Harry walked over to George and pulled him into another long hug. “Thank you,” he managed, distressed to find his eyes misty. Thankfully, George didn’t make a big deal about it; instead, he ruffled Harry’s hair and continued pulling on his boots. In the meantime, Draco took Harry’s hand and ran a gentle touch down his forearm.

George led the way to the back yard, where Ginny had hastily covered the Weasley family picnic table with a revolting magenta table cloth and was arranging the prepared food in a thoughtful buffet-style. It looked reasonably enticing, though – as George had mentioned – it would never be as good as Molly’s cooking.

As they walked over, Ginny caught Harry’s eye and shook her head, placing her hands on her hips in a similar fashion to Molly. “You couldn’t just leave well enough alone,” she chastised. But then her face softened. “I’m glad you didn’t, though,” Ginny said to Harry, briskly walking over to Draco and drawing him into a brusque hug.

Harry appreciated the way Draco masked his discomfort and wrapped his arms around Ginny as was expected of him. She didn’t release him after the normal time, though, instead holding on longer than was customary (even for a Weasley). He thought it strange – Ginny had never liked Draco very much, after all – but far be it for him to make a comment after the way she and George were choosing to accept Draco.

As they continued to hug, Harry visibly watched Draco relax in Ginny’s arms. He was taken aback to notice a lone tear run down Draco’s face, and even more startled to see Draco lift up Ginny’s red curtain of hair and whisper something in her ear. Presumably it was an apology, and as Harry saw Ginny nod and whisper something back, he knew he’d guessed right.

Finally, Draco and Ginny drew away from each other, Draco subtly wiping beneath his eyes as he retreated.

“I shouldn’t have to be the one to say this,” said Ginny determinedly. “But welcome to the family, Malfoy.”

They all teared up at this; Harry ran to Ginny and picked her up, drawing her close against him as he spun around the field in joy. “Thanks, Gin,” he said when he’d finally released her. “This means the world.”

“I know,” she said with a watery smile. “I’ll always be sorry we didn’t work out, Harry, but all I want is for you to be happy.”

There was a loud noise from behind as George noisily blew a loud raspberry. “Sorry,” he said, without a trace of remorse. “Just was providing the comic relief as always.”

“Ha, ha,” said Ginny, slugging him in the bicep. “Let’s go on and eat, then.”

Harry could see Draco struggling not to wrinkle his nose, but he obediently followed Ginny over to the picnic table and picked up a paper plate. They served themselves from the food platters, opting to sit close together on the benches under Warming Charms as to not freeze. Though it was only November, it was already quite cold outside. Draco leaned his arm on Harry’s, and he was grateful for the contact, though he was sure Draco touched him in an effort to comfort himself as well.

“Ready for NEWTs?” Ginny asked suddenly. They’d been eating in near silence, and Harry’d appreciated the chance to think.

“No, Gin, don’t bring that up,” Harry groaned. “It’s nearly the holiday; I haven’t even started properly thinking about them yet.”

George laughed. “Why bother taking them?  No one’s going to turn the Golden Boy away from a job,” he said cheekily. “Unfortunately, that’s not true for either of you,” George continued, giving Ginny and Draco an apologetic look.

Snorting, Harry said, “I’ve never wanted special treatment, and that hasn’t changed just because I killed Voldemort. My scores might not be great, but –”

“Harry’s selling himself short,” said Draco firmly. “We’ve been studying together, and he’s not nearly as dense as I used to think he was.” He appeared to believe that this was a compliment.

Ginny and George burst out laughing, George slapping Harry on the back in his mirth. “Merlin, Harry,” he choked. “Malfoy’s got some sense of humor, eh?”

“At least Malfoy’s encouraging Harry to study,” Ginny said with a twinkle in her eye. “Hermione’s been going spare lately with Ron’s shit attitude towards preparations.”

“Not everyone has to ace the tests,” said George. “Hell, Fred and I –” he cut off abruptly. “Malfoy, you’ll be looking to get top marks, surely?”

Draco tensed, but the changes to his posture were so slight Harry doubted anyone else could discern his stress. “I have to,” he said quietly. “It’ll be hard enough for me regardless.”

“You’ll come out with great scores,” Ginny promised. “Only Hermione’s beating you for top of the class,” she grinned.

“Granger’s a genius,” Draco said, delicately trying to shift the center of attention away from him.

“Now that’s something I never thought I’d hear coming from a Malfoy,” came a voice from behind them. As Ginny, George, and Draco jumped, Harry swiveled around and was met by Charlie’s grinning face.

“So, Malfoy, I hear you’re a part of our family, then?” asked Charlie, rolling his broad shoulders. “Merlin, my muscles are tense. I’ve only been Dillusioned for the entire time you lot’ve been out here. I wanted to get a bit of a handle on the situation before coming to any conclusions.”

“Thanks for sneaking around, you great buffoon,” said Ginny, rolling her eyes. “You could have simply said that and came out here with us anyway.”

“Would have defeated the purpose,” said Charlie simply. “Anyway, Malfoy. I want to echo what my dear sister said before. Welcome to the family.”

“You’re a Weasley for life, now,” George said solemnly. Ginny socked him in the arm again as Harry watched Draco try very hard not to react to his Weasley status.

“Thank you,” Draco said sincerely. “I’m afraid we haven’t met, however, so I can’t thank you properly by name.”

Harry smiled. “This is Charlie,” he said, throwing his arms around the dragon tamer. “Charlie, meet Draco,” he continued, ushering Draco closer.

Draco shook Charlie’s hand, staring only for the briefest of moments at his expansive tattoos. “Well, thank you very much, Charlie.”

“Yeah, thanks mate,” Harry echoed. “Like I said before, it means the world.” He shrugged back the tears, telling himself that they didn’t need a replay of the sap.

“You don’t have to worry about Bill, either,” Charlie informed them. “We’ve always been close, and he’s always been the rebel of the family anyway.”

“Hey!” George shouted indignantly. “That title’s already been claimed by Gred and Forge, thank you very much.”

Charlie waved him off. “You can’t claim something that was already taken before you were born.”

“Boys, let’s not argue now,” came the weary voice of Mr. Weasley, suddenly canceling his own Disillusionment Charm. Everyone looked at him in surprise, including Charlie. “Indeed, welcome to the family, Mr. Malfoy,” he said with a hopeful smile.

“Arthur,” said Harry. “What – how?”

“You’re family,” said Mr. Weasley simply. He held his arms open for Harry, who rushed into them without another word. He wouldn’t have been able to hold back the tears if he’d tried. They streamed down his face as Harry hugged Arthur, comforted immensely from the love he’d been shown by the individuals surrounding him. Draco was still uneasy by the demonstrations of care and support, but Harry was sure he’d eventually come around to being comfortable around the Weasleys.

“Is anyone hungry?” Ginny asked, condensing the remaining food neatly onto clean platters.

“Thought you’d never ask,” Charlie grinned, making a beeline for the paper plates. “Might have been rude to interrupt the moment and all.”

“Some food does sound nice,” said Mr. Weasley, patting Harry on the back as he also made for the picnic table. “Have you had enough to eat, Draco?” he asked, resting a soft hand on Draco’s shoulder.

“I could be persuaded into seconds,” Draco admitted, shifting uncomfortably under Mr. Weasley’s touch.

“Good man,” said Charlie approvingly. “More mashed potatoes? How about some of these delicious looking carrots?”

“That sounds wonderful,” Draco answered, still formal despite the warm welcome. Charlie continued to fix up Draco’s plate, putting small portions of nearly everything on there – except for the asparagus, because those were his favorite – and handing it to him before gathering his own food.

Harry’s heart expanded with love as he watched Draco sitting with the two elder Weasleys at the picnic table and eating with them, noticing how he visibly grew more comfortable as the conversation went on.

“You’re glowing,” Ginny observed.

“It’s so adorable,” George snickered. “Our little Harrykins is growing up!”

“Shut up,” Harry hissed, turning around to glare at them. “Just for that, I’m not inviting you to the wedding.”

After an initial moment of utter shock, Ginny and George looked at each other conspiratorially. “Good thing Mum’s still got those pictures from second year,” George remarked conversationally.

“Good thing,” Ginny agreed. “Those’ll be perfect for the reception.”

Harry let them continue to plot as he went back to watching Draco. Life occasionally threw him sadness, sometimes joy, but most often he experienced bittersweet moments such as this one. He was in love with a wonderful man, a flawed man to be sure, but a wonderful one all the same. And yet only part of his family was willing to be a part of that.

Walking forward to kiss Draco, much to the blonde’s discomfort and the Weasleys’ surprise, Harry refused to let himself dwell on what he couldn’t change. He counted his blessings, because the good in his life was so much more than he’d ever hoped for.

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The Weasleys were talking. The Weasleys were eating. The Weasleys were laughing. Draco thought his head was going to explode from the overstimulation. There was no way to find quiet in a family this large. Or so he was quickly learning. Harry thrived on the chaos, engaging in brotherly scuffles with George and Charlie and having a spirited conversation with Mr. Weasley about electrical sockets the next. The rules changed so often, it made Draco’s head spin.

Naturally, he was grateful that over half of the Weasley family had accepted him, and in doing so, validated Harry as a legitimate Weasley, but there was going to be a learning curve, even for him. Mother’s rules for social grace and decorum did not apply in this situation, and Draco was ready to curl up on the couch and bury himself in a good book.

Harry didn’t look ready to leave, though, and Draco was loathe to tear him away from the Weasleys, especially after how rocky their relations had been up until this point.

However there was one bridge he could help build while he was still here. Draco didn’t like making apologies, and he was quickly tiring of reparations, but he was also coming to find that he was utterly devoted to Harry. He told himself that he was _only_ doing it for Harry, but the thought of gaining another family helped motivate Draco to slip away from the excitement and sneak in through the back door of the Burrow. 

Fortunately, the Weasel was nowhere in sight. Neither was the Ministry brown-noser. The delicious aroma of Mrs. Weasley’s home cooked meal was still in the air, so Draco headed in the direction of what he thought was the kitchen. In a stroke of good luck, he found it on the first try, and Mrs. Weasley was there was well, mixing up cookie batter, if the enormous floating chocolate chip recipe card was anything to go by.

“Mrs. Weasley?” Draco asked softly, not wanting to startle her.

He was only partially successful; the cookie batter was jostled out of the bowl as she jumped and turned around to face him.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Mrs. Weasley said disapprovingly. “Are you lost? I’d be happy to direct you to the Floo.”

“I’d be happy to leave,” Draco said honestly. “But before I do, I wanted to thank you for killing my Aunt Bellatrix. My whole family, especially Mother, detested her, but because of her position in the Dark Lord’s service, we were never able to touch her.”

Mrs. Weasley’s face was inscrutable. Draco couldn’t tell if he was helping matters or hurting them. He decided, in a very Harry-esque way, to keep going.

“Actually,” he corrected, “We never had the courage to oppose her. Or at least I never did. So I want to thank you. You did all of us a great service.”

Draco drew his wand, and, to her credit, Molly Weasley didn’t flinch. He directed it at her cookie batter, setting it neatly back into the bowl. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you,” he said mildly. “I’d like to have a fresh start with your family, should you allow it. This Malfoy-Weasley feud has gone on for too many years, and I would be glad to help put an end to it.”

Mrs. Weasley’s lip was quivering. Either he was terrible at reading people, or Mrs. Weasley was one of a kind. Suddenly, unexpectedly, she threw down her mixing spoon and ran at Draco, encapsulating him in her arms. “You sweet thing,” she sobbed, hugging Draco tightly to her bosom. “It seems that this terrible War has changed you. I’m sorry for not believing Harry in the first place, dearie.”

“It’s perfectly alright,” Draco tried to assure her, words coming out slightly garbled as he was squeezed even more tightly.

“And I’m sure Harry’s just a wreck over all this,” Mrs. Weasley sighed. “I’m going to go find him, and you’re going to sit down at this table and have some desert. Yes, I saw Ginerva and George sneaking that horrible meal into my house,” she said, catching Draco’s eye as if reading his mind. “With seven children, I always have to be one step ahead.” Mrs. Weasley shook her head sadly. “Though I’m clearly getting old. Nonetheless,” she said briskly, brightening up again. “You sit here and have some of this cake that just came out, and I’m going to go and find Harry.”

Draco didn’t have time to respond before a ginormous piece of mouthwatering chocolate cake deposited itself on a plate and soared across the room towards him. Mrs. Weasley handed him a fork, smiling once more. “I wonder at the state of those Hogwarts house elves,” she frowned. “You and Harry both are entirely too thin.”

He meant to say thank you for the cake, but “This looks delicious” came out instead.

“Eat up, dear,” said Mrs. Weasley fondly.

Right as Draco was about to take a bite, the Weasel came slumping into the kitchen with a very nasty look on his face. “So he’s won you over too, Mum?” the Weasel huffed. “A few smooth words, and suddenly you’re putty in his hands!”

“Ronald Weasley!” shushed Mrs. Weasley. “You watch your mouth, young man. Don’t forget that you still live under this roof. I assure you, I’m perfectly capable of sizing him up, and I won’t tolerate your disrespectful attitude.”

“But look how he’s weaseled his way into our family!” shouted the Weasel. “Bloody hell, Mum, you’re feeding him Auntie Muriel’s cake!”

“Harry is our family,” said Mrs. Weasley firmly. “And anyone that’s important to him is important to us. I was foolish to disregard Draco before solely because of his past mistakes.”

The Weasel shook his head. “Mum, you don’t understand,” he said urgently. “Harry _isn’t_ our family. He wouldn’t have shacked up with Ferret Face here if he really thought of himself as a Weasley. The Malfoys have always been lying, rotten scumbags, and Malfoy here isn’t any different! He was one for the whole time we were at Hogwarts!”

“I’m sorry for my son’s poor manners,” said Mrs. Weasley sympathetically to Draco. “Do eat up, dear.”

Even the cake didn’t seem appetizing anymore after being insulted by the Weasel. What really hurt was that part of what he said was true. Draco had been a right git to Harry most of their time at Hogwarts, and he still considered himself lucky that Harry was able to forgive him for his poor choices. That didn’t make it any easier to hear it from the Weasel, especially when he was still struggling to see himself as worthy enough for Harry.

“Harry’s judgement is questionable at the best of times,” the Weasel said. “But he always comes to his senses. And when he does, probably after Malfoy stabs him in the back somehow, the right lot of us’ll look foolish for having trusted Malfoy.”

Draco struggled to hold his tongue. His wand hand twitched under the table, desperate to cast something sinister at the Weasel. The color drained from Mrs. Weasley’s face as she turned to round on him, but before she could lay into the Weasel properly, there was an interruption.

“I hate to say it, Mum, but I completely agree,” said the remaining Weasley. This had to be the pompous Ministry prat, Draco thought. He had the demeanor for it and everything.

Mrs. Weasley deflated, sighing as if greatly disappointed. “Not you too, Percy! Didn’t we already go through this with you?”

Percy flushed an ugly shade of puce. Draco wasn’t quite sure what the former incident was, but he would have bet a sizeable amount that Percy hadn’t come out of it looking too good.

“Mum, we’re really trying to be rational about this,” said the Weasel, taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself. “We just don’t want to welcome bigoted, self-serving _murderers_ into our family.”

That stung. Draco wasn’t a murderer, but he’d come much closer than he would have ever liked.

“Get out,” said Mrs. Weasley, closing her eyes.

“What? Mum –”

“You heard me, out! Both of you,” she hastily tacked on, giving Percy a glare out of the corner of her eye. “You’re both guests in this house and instead of acting like the respectful, open-minded young men your father and I brought you up to be, you stand here insulting your best friend’s partner right in front of him! Out, I tell you, out!”

“He’s not _my_ best friend,” said Percy sullenly.

“That’s right!” shouted Mrs. Weasley. “He’s your brother. Now out!”

They slunk out of the kitchen, but not before the Weasel tried to grab a piece of cake and Mrs. Weasley whacked his hand with the spatula. After Draco finally heard the Floo roaring, he figured it was safe to draw his wand again. His hands were shaking with hidden emotion, but he didn’t dare react in a way that would cause him to lose the favor he’d gained.

“Try your cake, dear,” said Mrs. Weasley, patting Draco’s shoulder. Somehow, she was completely serious, so he lifted the forkful he’d never gotten a chance to eat and bit in. Unconsciously, Draco’s eyes closed as he savored the heaven that was Mrs. Weasley’s baking.

“Feel better?” she asked with a shrewd smile. Reluctantly, he nodded. “I’m sorry that happened,” Mrs. Weasley added. “No doubt this isn’t an irregular occurrence for you?”

“Some have been more accepting than others,” Draco said tautly, trying not to lose control.

Without another word, Mrs. Weasley folded him into her arms, making soothing, comforting noises. He tried to hold back the floodgates, but couldn’t, especially as Mrs. Weasley gently stroked his back. Having Harry’s comfort and support was wonderful, but nothing compared to a motherly expression of love. Draco’s own mother still severely lacked in that area, though she cared for him a great deal. Gently sobbing, Draco tried to keep the sniffling to a minimum.

“You and Harry both have a rough road ahead, I’m afraid,” said Mrs. Weasley softly. “But it’s nothing I’m sure you can’t handle. Not after everything else you’ve gone through, and when you were just boys at that.”

They stayed together in the kitchen for a long while. Draco’s tears dried relatively quickly, but he didn’t move out of Mrs. Weasley’s embrace. Dusk had long since fallen when there was the loud sound of the back door bursting open – Draco instantly presumed it was Harry, and knew he was right when there came the loud call of “Draco!”

“I’m over here,” Draco replied, patting Mrs. Weasley’s arm. She got the message and stood up after giving him one last squeeze.

Harry walked into the kitchen to see Draco sitting with Mrs. Weasley at the kitchen table, indulging in chocolate cake. His mouth dropped open in surprise.

“Hello, Harry dear,” said Mrs. Weasley fondly. “Come have some cake. Draco here simply adores it.”

He sat in one of the remaining chairs without complaint, tried his cake, and complimented Mrs. Weasley. But he could only look between Draco and Mrs. Weasley with varying expressions of shock, love, and relief. They sat quietly together, soaking in the moment.

Draco eventually had to nip out to go to the bathroom, and as he left, he could hear Harry and Mrs. Weasley start talking. Deciding to let them have some privacy, Draco returned to the back yard to see what the rest of the Weasleys were up to.

To his surprise, everything outside was completely silent. They seemed to have run out of steam, the lot of them, and were simply sprawled out across the lawn watching the stars come out. Ginny had noticed the back door open, and gestured for Draco to come over. He sat in between her and George, using an extra Weasley sweater as a pillow. Other than to occasionally note a specific constellation, or even a shooting star, the Weasleys stayed quiet, and Draco was strangely appreciative.

And when Harry and Mrs. Weasley came out to join the family, Harry slipping behind Draco and pulling him into his lap, well, Draco was grateful for that too.

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They got home late that night. It had been so peaceful out under the stars that no one had wanted to leave and end the moment. So Harry, Draco, and the rest of the Weasleys ended up taking dinner out into the back yard – which was honestly the best meal Harry’d ever had – and continuing to watch the night sky. Draco’d even seen a shooting star that the rest of them had somehow missed.

The minute his head stopped spinning from Apparation, Harry latched onto Draco and kissed him, accidentally knocking their teeth together in his haste. Draco looked surprised.

“I need you,” Harry whispered, caressing Draco’s cheek.

Leaning into the touch, Draco whispered back, “Are you sure we’re ready for this?”

“Honestly, Draco,” Harry said, nuzzling into Draco’s neck, closer to his ear, “I’ve wanted you ever since the beginning of the semester. But it never seemed to be the right time, and I reckoned I couldn’t push it after I gave you such shit when you brought it up over the summer.”

“You’re right about that,” Draco snorted, giving Harry a little shove. “I probably would have murdered you in your sleep.”

“How do I know you still won’t murder me in my sleep?” Harry asked softly, pulling away so he could look Draco in the eyes.

Without warning, Draco crashed their lips together again, kissing Harry more passionately than he ever had before. “You don’t,” he said mischievously.

 They simultaneously moved toward the bed, tightly holding hands. Draco quickly disrobed, folding his clothes neatly and placing them on the wardrobe.

“Er –” said Harry, pulling anxiously at the neck of his sweater.

“Salazar, Potter.” Draco rolled his eyes, stepping forward, clad only in his pants, to rid Harry of his clothes as well.

“You’ve taken my pants off too,” said Harry. “But you still have yours on.”

Draco knelt on the floor and stared up at him with a wicked grin. “That’s because I’m going to do this.” Without wasting a second, he leaned in and gently licked up Harry’s cock from shaft to tip.

“Merlin, Malfoy,” Harry breathed. “Keep that up, and you’ll murder me, just not in my sleep.”

Laughing, Draco continued to tease Harry, gently nipping and sucking at his thighs until he deemed it appropriate to take Harry’s whole length into his mouth. By this time, Harry was a rambling mess.

“Yes, there,” he moaned. “Please, Draco, harder.” Looking down, he saw Draco’s smirk, which was the definition of shit-eating grin. “You arsehole.”

“Arsehole, eh?”

Unexpectedly, Draco wet a finger and, as he continued to dip and bob on Harry’s cock, ghosted it around the furl of Harry’s hole. The resulting yelp Harry made put yet another shit-eating grin on Draco’s face. “Like that, do you?”

Harry didn’t say anything, refusing to give Draco the satisfaction. After a few seconds, Draco resumed his ministrations to Harry’s cock but didn’t go anywhere near his bum again. His mouth was good, but everything was better when Draco touched him there.

“Yes,” he said finally, glaring up at the ceiling. “I bloody well liked it!”

Without another word, Draco wet his finger again and pushed it into Harry. He gasped in response. It felt weird, but strangely good at the same time. When Draco thrust in again, this time it hit something inside of Harry that made him cry out in pleasure.

“More!” he cried, pushing back on Draco’s finger.

Draco continued his combination of sucking and licking, wetting another finger and pushing them both into Harry. The stretch was not pleasant, but because he was so aroused, the pain wasn’t an issue.

Everything around him ceased to exist as Draco pleasured him. Harry’d never imagined trusting someone else so much to be able to let his guard down completely, but that’s what happened with Draco.

“Draco,” Harry inhaled. “Draco –”

“Hm?”

“I’m going to come, you have to stop.”

Draco obliged, giving Harry’s cock one last little lick in a place he’d previously learned was one of Harry’s most sensitive spots. He pulled off his own pants and climbed into bed, wrapping his arms around Harry, who was already curled up on his side.

“That was very enjoyable,” he murmured.

“Really?” Harry managed to ask, skeptical despite his horniness.

“Really, you doofus. I like pleasing you, you know.”

Harry smiled. “I’m glad,” he grinned, leaning forward to kiss Draco. “But I haven’t gotten to please you yet tonight.”

“You have, actually.”

Shaking his head, Harry nudged Draco onto his back, smooching his nose as Draco made a noise of complaint. “How do you want to do this, love?”

“However you want; I’m not picky.”

Harry gave Draco a look that clearly disagreed.

“Oh, alright,” Draco scowled, a slight blush coming over his pale cheeks. “I’ve always wanted to bottom for you, but we don’t have to do it that way – you clearly like it as well.”

“That was a surprise,” Harry admitted, feeling his own face flush. “I’ve always wanted to do it this way too, Draco.”

A hint of nervousness came over Draco’s face. Harry could guess why.

“I’ll make it good for you,” he whispered. “We can even use a spell if you want.”

Draco considered. “I’d rather not,” he said finally. “I want to feel every minute, Harry.”

Harry kissed him, thinking that his heart would explode from love. He briefly pulled away, but only long enough to straddle Draco before resuming kissing him again. After a minute, he kissed his way down Draco’s neck and jaw, over his Dark Mark, down his chest – he traced Draco’s scars and whispered more apologies, though he and Draco’d already had this conversation a few months ago – and finally down to his cock. There was something else he wanted to try, so Harry only spent a few minutes teasing him, relying on his knowledge of Draco’s body to turn him on quickly.

“Turn over, love.”

“Wait,” Draco said anxiously, sitting up. “I want to see you, though I’ve heard it might hurt less from behind.”

“I want to see you too,” said Harry. “But you’re not ready yet, Draco, and there’s something I want to try first.”

“What’s that?”

Harry tossed a pillow at him. “Here, get comfortable.”

Grumbling, Draco arranged himself on elbows and knees, resting his head on the pillow. “This is as good as you’re getting, Potter. For Merlin’s sakes, I’m not a dog.”

“Of course you’re not,” Harry said as soothingly as he could manage. A disgruntled Draco was not something he wanted to deal with. “Come up just a little higher?” He pulled on Draco’s bum to make his point.

Draco obliged, but he was still tense. Harry gently massaged his back in an effort to calm him, trying desperately to convey love through his touch. When he reached Draco’s lower back, he knelt, kissing Draco’s skin until he trembled. “Laevoa” Harry murmured, conjuring silky lube and warming it between his fingers before gently teasing Draco’s furl, slipping the top part of his finger inside in an effort to make him want more.

It worked. Draco moaned and pushed back, trying to find Harry’s finger again.

“Patience,” Harry chided, smiling at the thought of Draco experiencing the same bliss he’d felt before. But then again, Draco hadn’t hesitated to tease _him_. He decided to have mercy and gave Draco the whole finger, lubing it again so that it slid past his muscle smoothly.

Draco sighed in pleasure, but not to Harry’s satisfaction. It was time. Gently pulling Draco’s bum even higher, he leaned down and softly flicked his tongue over Draco’s rim.

Predictably, Draco jumped before exclaiming, “Potter, what the fuck was that?!”

“You know what it was, Malfoy. Did you like it?”

Draco didn’t respond. Slightly disappointed, Harry wetted his finger again and resumed fingering Draco, feeling around for his prostate. This went on for another couple of minutes – Draco offering no reaction – until there was a very sulky response.

“Yes, Potter, I bloody well liked it.”

Smirking, Harry lowered himself once more to Draco’s bum and reached out with his tongue again. This time, instead of just flicking, he tongued his way around the rim, Draco opening up for him as he nudged his way inside.

There were noises coming from Draco now, which Harry adored.

“Harry,” Draco begged. “Harder – more. Merlin, I need you!” he sobbed.

Harry decided to experiment a bit more first, not in the least because he was having such fun watching Draco become undone. He tongue fucked Draco for a good minute and then decided to try drawing letters instead. After every word, he pushed his way back inside, drawing more pleading from the blonde.

Finally, he drew away from Draco’s rim. “I think you’re ready for another finger,” he said softly.

Draco whimpered. “Yes, please.” Pressing a soft kiss to Draco’s bum, Harry slid between Draco’s spread legs and positioned himself in front of Draco’s hard cock, ready to go down on him again. Above him, Draco trembled as he held himself up on quivering elbows.

Harry slowly took Draco in, teasing all the while; deeply inhaling his distinct scent. When Draco started writhing above him in pleasure, Harry pressed a slippery finger into Draco, enjoying the feeling as the muscle clenched around him. He was careful to keep Draco away from the edge, ever-so-slowly working in two fingers before moving up to three a short while later.

When Draco became antsy, mewing with need, Harry scooched out from between his legs and once again flicked his tongue over Draco’s rim. It drove him wild; Draco cried out and immediately pushed his bum back up against Harry’s face. In attempts to appease him, Harry finger- and tongue-fucked Draco at the same time, enjoying the sounds Draco made when he wasn’t self-conscious.

Too soon, Draco was moaning, “More. Please Harry, more.” Grinning, Harry gave Draco a cheeky kiss before straightening up and pulling Draco into his arms.

The first thing Draco did was kiss Harry. He was really surprised, but then Draco whispered, “I want to taste,” and Harry’s cock immediately leapt to attention. Their shared kiss was made all the more dirty as Draco licked Harry’s lips and planted kisses all over his cheeks and jaw.

“I want you,” Draco breathed into his ear. He lowered himself slowly, snatching the pillow and placing it behind his head before spreading his legs wide and pulling Harry between them.

He couldn’t breathe. He’d always expected making love to Malfoy to be an experience in of itself, but never had Harry expected their sex to be just so _intimate_. If he’d had a single doubt before about whether or not he really loved Draco, it was gone now.

Unsure of what to do next, Harry flailed until Draco pressed a small bottle into his hand.

“Er – do you want to use some form of protection?” he asked doubtfully.

“Have you been with anyone else?”

“No,” answered Harry indignantly.

“Can I get pregnant?”

“Is that a trick question?”

Draco’s laugh rang throughout the room. “Potter, I don’t think you’ll ever cease to amuse me.”

“Good,” he said mushily, leaning down to kiss Draco. “I don’t think I’d have it any other way.”

“Me either,” sighed Draco. He took the lube back and opened it, warming it between his hands before spreading it on Harry’s cock. “Go on, then. I’m ready.”

With Draco’s arms around his neck, legs crossed around his back, Harry gently slid inside. He only made it in an inch or so before Draco completely tensed up, unconsciously squeezing the hell out of his neck and hips.

“Oh,” Draco said uncomfortably. “It hurts.”

“Of course it hurts,” Harry joked, loosening Draco’s hold enough to look him in the eyes. “We’re putting something _in_ when shit’s only supposed to come _out_.”

Draco laughed at this, and as his body relaxed ever-so-slightly, Harry slid in another quarter of an inch until Draco’s face squinched up again and he made a noise of discomfort.

“Do you want to stop?” Harry asked seriously, pinning Draco with his gaze. “I won’t be mad or upset, you know. We can take it slow.”

“I don’t want to stop,” said Draco determinedly, though Harry could feel his legs shaking.

“How can I help?”

“Kiss me. Touch me.”

Harry did both, kissing Draco with more passion than he’d even had earlier that night. With the hand not wrapped around Draco, he stroked Draco’s cock, rubbing the glistening bead of pre-come into his head in the way he knew Draco liked.

As Draco’s body continued to relax and become more aroused, he could take more of Harry, and they kept up the foreplay until Harry was deep inside Draco.

“Does it feel okay?” Harry asked.

“Better than before,” Draco responded with a slight grimace.

He decided to take that as a good sign. “Should I move now?”

“Not yet.”

It was a few more minutes before Draco felt comfortable enough for thrusting, and once he gave the okay, Harry gently pulled back and slid back inside, applying more lube to make it easier on Draco. He’d surprised himself with the amount of self-control he’d been able to show. The fact that Harry cared for Draco’s pleasure more than he cared for his own surely had something to do with it.

“Can you do that again?” Draco asked suddenly, interrupting the slow rhythm Harry’d set.

He anxiously tried to remember what he’d just done, and, giving it his best go, thrust down into what he hoped was Draco’s prostate. The reaction was immediate. Draco gasped, tightening his hold on Harry’s neck and wrapping his legs around him even harder.

“More,” he moaned, baring his neck in invitation.

Harry obliged on both counts, thrusting slightly harder and increasing his pace. He also took the opportunity to mark the side of Draco’s neck with lovebites, nipping rapidly as Draco pleaded for him.

They didn’t last long after that. He kissed Draco, holding him close in the way he knew Draco liked, paid special attention to how Draco wanted his cock, and gave him a couple soft slaps on the bum to send him over. Within seconds, Draco was coming, cock untouched. Strangely, Harry was extremely proud of them both for such a successful first attempt.

He didn’t have time to ponder it, though; as Draco came, he clenched around Harry’s cock, and that set him off. Everything went dark as the climax flooded his body; he was only conscious of Draco squeezing him tighter, both with his arms and his arse, as he went over the edge. His vision took a few seconds to clear afterward, but when Harry opened his eyes, Draco was there, smiling.

“Now, I don’t want to inflate your ego or anything, Potter,” he beamed, “But that was fantastic.”

“I thought so too,” Harry answered, picking his head up from where it was buried in Draco’s chest and kissing him.

They stayed like that until Draco claimed he was uncomfortable, and as Harry gently slid out he winced in pain. “Should I heal you?” he asked awkwardly.

“No,” Draco said firmly. “I want to remember this in the morning.”

“You’re really such a sap,” Harry said fondly.

“I’ll have you know, Potter, that I am nothing of the sort! Heal me if you must!”

Harry ignored him and slipped into the bathroom, warming the water before wetting a flannel and cleaning his skin. He went back into the bedroom and gave Draco the same treatment, though slightly more gently, as he was still pouting.

“I love you and your sappiness,” Harry told him as he scrubbed off a particularly stubborn spot of cum. “See? I’m an equally big sap.”

“Well, I guess that’s okay then,” Draco said sleepily. “Lie down, already, and stop mauling me with that rag.”

He chucked the rag towards the laundry pile and slid under the covers, Draco gingerly following suit. They spooned together, Draco snuggling up into Harry’s chest. He gently patted Draco’s bum and kissed the back of his neck.

“I’m proud of us,” he whispered into the dark.

“So am I,” Draco whispered back, snuggling in closer.

He’d almost drifted off to sleep, but then Draco took his hand and wrapped it around his own stomach, binding them together.

“I love you, Harry,” he said, very faintly. “And one day, I think could love the Weasleys too. Or at least most of them.”

Sleep forgotten, Harry shot up and stared at the back of Draco’s head with wide eyes. “Do you mean it?” he asked tentatively.

“Of course I do,” said Draco indignantly, rolling over to face him. “Why else would I have said it? Jeez, Potter, I thought we were having sappy time talk and all –”

“You mean more to me every day,” Harry blurted. “I meant what I said earlier too, Draco. I do want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“I thought we already established that,” Draco mumbled sleepily. “Lie down, already. You’re disturbing my beauty sleep and – mph!”

He was cut off abruptly when Harry kissed him, but couldn’t help from leaning into the touch and kissing back.

“Alright, Harry,” Draco said when they’d finally broken apart again. “You’ve successfully wooed me. Now can I get some bloody _sleep_?”

Harry smiled. He didn’t think he’d ever cease to be amused either by Draco’s endless supply of sass. Curled up just the way they were before, he drifted off into a peaceful sleep; ecstatic to have the man he loved by his side.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're enjoying so far, let me know! Leave a kudos or drop me a comment below. <3 I appreciate them so much and they're a great motivator for me to continue writing!


	11. Aspiration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Draco have a heart-to-heart while targeting an academic journal; Harry and Draco receive an interesting proposition from Luna.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, about the total number of chapters...I had my outline all set up and everything, but then something else came up that I *really* want to explore. I'm going to go ahead and leave the projected total at 16 chapters, but I want to let you all know there may end up being more! Honestly, it just depends on how things flow.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy this update!

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Draco woke up smiling. He reflected on how rare that was – even waking up to Harry usually couldn’t keep the smile on his face when he considered the stress of the coming day – before snuggling back up to Harry and ruffling his hair.

“Wake up, Potter,” he breathed in Harry’s ear. “We’re going to be late to Hogwarts.”

It took a few pokes and prods before Harry cracked open an eye. “Stop shoving me,” he grumbled.

Draco smirked, straddling him and snatching his pillow out from underneath his head until he groaned in frustration.

“Do we really have to go?” Harry whined. “Even though you're a wanker, I’d much rather spend the day in bed with you.” He reached up, only to tug Draco down into a sloppy morning kiss.

“Ew, Potter!” Draco howled. “Your breath is rancid. Get up and brush your teeth, you savage.”

Harry didn’t let go of Draco’s wrists. “My breath is only so bad because I was eating _you_ last night, Malfoy,” he said, much to Draco’s chagrin.

He could feel himself blushing and quickly strove to rectify the situation before Harry could become too pleased with himself.

“Since your breath already reeks,” Draco said, harnessing his most flirtatious smile, “And since it’s breakfast time, maybe you could go for round two, then.”

It was foolish to expect that to deter Harry. In fact, perfectly unruffled, he gazed back at Draco with lustful green eyes. “Turn around,” he said, all traces of teasing gone from his voice.

“No, Potter!” cried Draco, the flush already returning to his pale cheeks. “I meant it when I said we were going to be late.”

“So we’ll be late,” Harry returned, pouncing on Draco unexpectedly. He shrieked, but his cries quickly gave way to moans as Harry yanked down his pants and started flicking his tongue over Draco’s already-sensitive rim.

Needless to say, they definitely didn't make it to Hogwarts on time. Draco wasn't upset about skiving off from Charms – Flitwick liked him, and he was already confident he could scrap at least an E on that NEWT without any real effort – and Harry was more than happy to miss Potions. He insisted that anything he didn’t know for the exam, Draco could just help him with, so what was the point of actually going to class?

Hermione would have torn Draco a new one, though, especially after how productive they’d previously been during Potions, if he’d gone and skipped _his_ Potions class. So Draco dragged himself into the shower after yet another round of incredibly hot sex with Harry. He hadn’t wanted to heal himself after their lovemaking, but found that it was going to be extremely awkward if everyone asked why he was moving so gingerly.

They made it to Hogwarts right after the first bell rang, and Draco ran pell-mell for the dungeons and mercifully made it there before the late bell. Hermione was waiting by their cauldron, tapping her foot disapprovingly.

“You’re late,” she said, checking her watch.

“Not according to the bell,” panted Draco.

She rolled her eyes. “Didn’t we say that we’d meet 15 minutes before class and talk about publishing the Obfuscation Elixir? We need to look into which academic journals would be most likely to accept our submission.”

“Right,” said Draco, feeling very much like Harry. Merlin, what effect was that man already having on him? “Sorry about that, Granger.”

They were interrupted as Slughorn started class, droning on for an unpleasantly long time about the Hauntification Potion, one Draco’d known how to make since third year. Finally, they reached the practical portion of the lesson. Though Draco had the sneaking suspicion he wasn't going to be let off of the hook that easily…

“Why were you late, anyway?” Hermione asked suspiciously, staring at him with beady eyes.

“Why I never! I’ll have you know, Granger, that you have no reason to stick your nose in my personal business –”

“You shagged Harry, didn’t you?”

Stunned into silence, Draco gawped. It wasn’t often that he found himself at a loss for words, and, he reflected sullenly, he shouldn’t be surprised Granger was the one to render him speechless.

“Elementary deduction, really,” said Hermione, face carefully blank as she purposefully ignored Slughorn’s instructions and snagged a 600 milliliter beaker instead of the 1000 milliliter. “Ron spent at least an hour griping about your visit to the Burrow, for one, so I know you’ve made amends with the Weasley family. Or most of them, at least,” she corrected herself. “Also, we’ve never talked about it, but Harry absolutely wouldn't have sex without being certain about the person he’s with.”

Draco dug deep into his Malfoy reserves and put on his most facetious frown. “There’s no way you could have deduced all of that, Granger, even as smart as you are,” he said dismissively.

“Oh, and you’re grimacing every time you sit down or stand up,” Hermione said offhandedly, alternatively pouring frog’s breath and wormsworth into the beaker until it was a murky gray-green. “Can I offer you a Healing spell? I’ve already figured out all the best ones, you see, and –”

Thankfully, she lost the opportunity to finish that sentence as Slughorn came by and started reprimanding a pair of former Hufflepuffs directly in front of them.

“I did heal it,” hissed Draco once Slughorn continued on his merry way, unfortunately confirming her suspicions. He threw three cups of lacewings into their cauldron, one more than Slughorn’s instructions called for, adding in two drops of lavender essential oil on nothing but a whim.

“So why is it still hurting? I know you’re better at casting spells than that, Malfoy. Unless you haven’t fully healed it for sentimental reasons,” Hermione smirked.

“Sod off,” said Draco, perturbed that she could read him so well.

“Honestly, I’m glad to see you have a heart.”

He dumped the gray-grey viscous sludge into their cauldron, feeling slightly mollified as it gave off a loud _puff_ and a giant cloud of steam.

“Impressive!” Slughorn shouted from across the room. “You really work as a remarkable team, Mr. Malfoy and Ms. Granger!”

Hermione accepted his compliment with a modest smile while Draco humbly dropped his gaze to the floor. Malfoys didn’t do humble, and he was determined to overcome that particular quirk. Even if it meant hiding his self-satisfied smirk with a deferential move Father would have certainly not condoned.

They rocketed through the potion, finishing quickly from there, and Slughorn let them leave early after Hermione earnestly told him how much research they’d have to do before taking him up on his earlier suggestion that they publish their findings on the Obfuscation Elixir.

Settled comfortably at the library, Draco skimmed through _Elements_ , an Alchemy-based academic journal, while Hermione perused _Healing Solutions_ , a journal concerned with multiple forms of Healing potions.

“These aren’t going to work,” she sighed after fifteen minutes spent reading about how Skele-Gro could be modified to regrow bones up to 15% quicker than usual. “We need something that deals with Potions and the Dark Arts.”

Draco flipped through the stack of journals they’d rescued while ignoring the glaring presence of Madame Pince. “ _Brewing Dangerously_? _Potion Practitioner_? How about _Demonstrating Darkness_?”

“You take _Brewing Dangerously_ and I’ll try _Demonstrating Darkness_ ,” Hermione decided. “I think that _Potion Practitioner_ is too generalized for our purposes.”

Both journals were published quarterly, so they each had four issues to browse from the current year. Draco didn’t particularly like the idea of reading back any further, especially considering that each issue was over 200 pages.

As they skimmed, something clicked in Draco’s mind. “Granger?” he asked tentatively. “Are you quite alright with publishing a discovery relating to the Dark Arts?”

“Of course,” Hermione said dismissively. “The Dark Arts aren't inherently evil; after all, it’s the intent of the wizard or witch that determines how the magic will manifest. Besides,” she said, meeting Draco’s eyes. “Academia shouldn’t be limited in any way, shape, or form.”

“So it’s a case of knowledge for knowledge’s sake?”

“That, and because it’s also rather unexplored. Oh, and because it might be relevant for potions of similar composition.”

“It really doesn’t bother you that our discovery could be used for harm?”

“Any spell could be used for harm,” snorted Hermione. “Merlin, I could use magic to tickle you until you starved, suffocated, or even died from laughter.”

“Good to know,” said Draco, mollified and more than a little disturbed.

“Since we’re playing twenty questions,” said Hermione impishly. “How was it, anyway?”

“How was what?”

“Sex with Harry.”

Draco choked on his own spit. “Why are you asking me that?” he sputtered.

“Curiosity?” answered Hermione mildly.

He scowled. Granger had to be motivated by something other than simple _curiosity_.

Choosing to be honest – at least partially – Draco said, “Enjoyable.”

She snorted. “Obviously I expected it to have been _enjoyable_ , Malfoy.”

“Either you tell me why you’re so concerned, Granger, or that’s the only adjective you’re getting,” Draco spat.

Visibly deflating, Hermione muttered, “It’s probably best I just ask Harry, then, after all.”

Draco sighed. Now she was pulling on his heartstrings. And, supposedly, Slytherins were the manipulative ones. “Of all people, I wouldn’t have thought you needed an overview of how gay sex worked,” he said dryly. “Isn’t there a book that covers the basics?”

Oddly enough, he was pleased with her resulting blush. “It’s not that, Malfoy,” Hermione hissed, slamming down the issue of _Demonstrating Darkness_ she’d been blankly staring at for the last five minutes. “I want to know how it made you feel, for Merlin’s sake!”

“How it made me feel?” Draco laughed. “Salazar, Granger, it was _anal sex_. And it’s not like I’ve had a ton of practice, so it hurt. It hurt a fucking lot, actually, until I was so aroused that the pain didn’t register anymore.”

Exasperatedly, Hermione slapped a hand to her forehead. “That’s not what I meant, either, Malfoy,” she groaned. “Emotionally. How did it feel emotionally?”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “You’re asking me about my feelings?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Hermione responded with a hint of sarcasm.

“And If I answer honestly, you’ll tell me why you’re being a huge twat about this?”

“To the best of my ability,” she sighed.

After shifting uncomfortably, Draco unconsciously took on a dreamy expression. “It was the most amazing experience I’ve ever had,” he said thoughtfully. “All I could see, hear, and feel was Harry. It was like he overwhelmed every one of my senses. And while he was filling me –” Draco only allowed the slightest hint of embarrassment to flood him while he described the sensation “– it was like we were completely and utterly connected. We were the only ones that existed, that _mattered_ , until it almost felt like we were one being.”

“Would you describe it as fucking?”

“Bloody hell, Granger!” exclaimed Draco, voice echoing through the dark chambers of the library. “Are you daft? No, I bloody well wouldn’t describe it as _fucking_ ,” he continued indignantly, lowering his voice. “I hate the phrase ‘made love,’ too, but that’s the only way to describe it.”

“Oh,” said Hermione miserably. “I’m so happy for you, Malfoy, and Harry too.”

Draco frowned. That certainly wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting. “Wait,” he said slowly. “When you and the Weasel are together – are you fucking, or making love?”

“Fucking,” Hermione said, sniffling. “Thanks for confirming it, by the way. I thought maybe I was just unrealistically projecting what I thought sex should be like, but you actually _do_ feel with Harry the way I always wished I would feel with Ron.”

“Can I speak freely?” Draco asked cautiously. He was definitely wary of offending Hermione, but it seemed that there were some things that needed to be said.

“Please,” she said with a watery chuckle.

“Does he tell you that he loves you?”

“Yes, of course.”

“More importantly, do you think he knows what love means?”

“Honestly,” Hermione answered thoughtfully, “now that you mention it, I don’t think so. If he did, he’d be able to accept Harry’s decisions, and, by extension, Harry himself.”

“Naturally,” agreed Draco. “What do you see in him?”

“Excuse me?”

“What do you see in him? Other than he’s been one of your closest friends since you were eleven years old.”

Hermione was silent. It took her a minute to respond. “I like how me makes me laugh,” she said finally.

“ _Does_ he make you laugh, or _did_ he make you laugh?” specified Draco.

There was no response. He decided to take her silence as confirmation of “did.”

“The way I see it, Granger,” said Draco honestly, “It just doesn’t add up. You’re intelligent, curious, caring, and open minded, while he’s – erm, not those things,” he said, quickly backtracking at the look on Hermione’s face.

For a minute, Draco was afraid she’d explode at him, but then Hermione let out a big breath and gave him a grimace of agreement. “I see what you mean,” she said. “We’re an unlikely match, to be sure. And he has been a rather bigoted _arsehole_ lately.”

“I’m just not sure it’s meant to be,” Draco said quietly. “Not that I’m qualified, by any means, to be giving relationship advice. Harry and I are as equally unlikely of a match.”

“But there’s something there for you and Harry,” Hermione argued. “I see it every time I look at the two of you. I can look at Ron for days, and the only time I see him come alive is when he's eating or raging about Harry.”

“I’m sorry, Hermione,” said Draco. It was the first time he’d called her by her given name, but somehow, it didn’t feel strange.

“It’s not your fault,” she said, patting his hand. “If anything, I’m _glad_ that you and Harry got together. I wasn’t at first, but now I couldn’t imagine not having you around.”

On impulse, Draco hugged her. “That means a lot,” he said honestly. “And for what it’s worth, I feel the same.”

By mutual silent agreement, they went back to studying the journal issues.

“This one’s not the perfect choice, but it’s a reasonable fit,” said Hermione, after they’d skimmed all four issues. “It deals with all facets of the Dark Arts – objects, spells and wand components, not only Potions.”

“This would probably be our best bet, then,” Draco concluded. “It’s definitely only about Potions-making and brewing techniques, and though not all of them fit under the category of ‘Dark Arts,’ enough of them do that our submission wouldn't be out of place.”

“Excellent,” said Hermione, snagging a random copy of _Brewing Dangerously_. “We’ll just save these submission requirements, then,” she said, tearing out a page from the back of the issue. “One thing we should do though, before we go through all this trouble, is research the Obfuscation Elixir and see what else’s been published about it.”

“Better not to do all the work if someone else’s already had the same idea,” agreed Draco. “How fast can you read? Provided Harry doesn’t distract me, I can probably manage at least ten issues a day.”

Hermione smiled for the first time since they’d left Slughorn’s class. “Malfoy, you're on.”

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They usually went home together, but Draco wanted to stay at Hogwarts later than usual to do some sort of research. Harry’s patient waiting lasted through dinnertime, but, once it was more than an hour after they usually ate, his rumbling stomach encouraged him to quickly cook something to eat. To be fair, he left half for Draco, providing he ever _did_ come home.

It was half-eight when Harry started doing his Potions homework, having gotten the assignment earlier that day from Neville, though he was slightly miffed Draco wasn’t around to help him with the more technical parts. He gave it his best shot for the better part of an hour, and sped through the rest of his assignments not long after that.

At half-ten, he started getting ready for bed, slightly worried about Draco. Reminding himself that he and Draco weren’t necessarily joined at the hip, Harry made a steaming mug of hot chocolate and settled down with a good book. It didn’t hold his attention for even a second. Every time there was a little noise, he’d look wildly around the room as if expecting Draco to emerge from their tea kettle or the squeaky cuckoo clock.

He made it to half-eleven before giving up and sending his stag Patronus to Neville conveying his concern. Feeling slightly bad about making Neville get out of bed and look for Draco, Harry was nonetheless relieved when Neville’s Patronus returned, informing him that Draco was still in the library doing research.

At midnight, he finally climbed into bed and turned out the light. It had been a long day, and they were due for another equally long one tomorrow. But it felt wrong to go to sleep without Draco. He tossed and turned for the better part of an hour, having convinced himself that ghosts or Inferi haunted their apartment. Harry’d grown so accustomed to Draco’s presence, especially in bed, that he couldn’t sleep without him. There was definitely a reason why he’d had next to no nightmares since he and Draco moved in together.

The door clicked open at one in the morning, and, though Harry leapt up in bed, instantly alert, Draco didn’t call for him. Instead, he listened intently to what he thought was Draco dropping his bag on the floor by their shoes instead of neatly hanging it up as he always did and tripping over the book he’d unwittingly set out as a death trap instead of slipping it back on the bookshelf.

He didn’t go to Draco. His pride was a major obstacle as was his frustration that not only had Draco stayed at the library practically _all night_ , he didn’t even come and say hello after he returned home. Harry crossed his arms in the dark, listening to Draco eating dinner. Pages were turning every so often, so he could only assume that Draco’d brought work home with him.

It didn’t take him long to eat. Harry heard Draco mutter a quick Scourgify before nipping into the bathroom and closing the door. He decided to pretend to be asleep when Draco came to bed and see what happened.

To his relief, when Draco came into their bedroom, the first thing he did was pull up Harry’s covers and kiss him on the lips, all the while smoothing back his hair, stroking his fingers gently through the thick locks. It was irrational, but Harry’d been concerned Draco would love him less as his enthusiasm for his work grew.

Opening his eyes, Harry couldn’t hold back a smile as Draco jumped in surprise.

“Why were you pretending to be asleep?” Draco demanded, having recovered from his shock, though he was still holding a hand over his heart for good measure.

“Draco, it’s past one in the bloody morning!” Harry practically shouted, anger quickly returning.

“I used to study late into the night all throughout Hogwarts,” Draco stubbornly replied. “My research is _important_ , Harry.”

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. Even though he only lit a dim Lumos, the sulk on Draco’s face was imminently clear. “I know how important your research is to you,” Harry said, as patiently as possible. “But you're more important to me, Draco. You can’t just stay out all night; maybe that worked when it was just you, but it’s _us_ now.”

Even as Draco opened his mouth to protect, Harry cut him off. “I know what you’re going to say,” he said angrily. “But I would have been finer with it if you’d at least sent me a note or something. Bloody hell, I had to send my Patronus to Neville and ask him to make sure you were still alive!”

Draco finally showed signs of understanding. It was entirely possibly that he realized Harry’s fears, both reasonable and not, about something happening to him. “I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I didn’t stop to think –”

Harry bit back a remark about how that much was obvious and forced himself to accept the apology. “Don't be sorry,” he said, pulling Draco into his arms. “Just don’t do it again.”

Their hug conveyed a thousand things that words could not, and Harry felt his anger drain away the longer they held each other.

“Also, I missed you,” he whispered into Draco’s ear.

“I missed you too,” Draco whispered back.

“But did you?” Harry asked, hating himself for revealing so much vulnerability.

Draco pulled away enough to look full into Harry’s eyes. “Of course I did,” he said with a small tremor in his voice. “Just because I wasn’t with you didn’t mean I wasn’t thinking about you whenever I pulled my nose out of a journal.”

It didn't entirely make up for the pain he’d felt the whole afternoon, evening, and night, but it was enough to heal the ache in his heart. Harry kissed Draco then, ghosting his fingers through Draco’s silvery blonde hair as they clung together.

“Are you tired?” Draco whispered.

“Very,” Harry answered.

And so, without even changing into his pajamas, Draco snuggled up against Harry and closed his eyes. With a fond sigh, Harry Banished Draco’s clothes, save for his pants, to their proper hangers – the last time he’d tried it, the clothes ended up in a ball on the floor and Draco had a fit – and held him close, finally ready to slip into the abyss.

By some strange miracle, they made it on time to Hogwarts the next morning, though both were running dangerously low on sleep. Harry suggested skiving off their afternoon Transfiguration, but Draco shot him down immediately, insisting that they couldn’t, in good faith, skip another class in the same week.

With that unhappy resolution, Harry struggled to stay awake after lunch, determinedly sneaking into the kitchen and begging the house elves for some coffee before meeting Draco before class.

He was so focused on making it to class that he didn’t notice when Luna called him from across the hall. In fact, he only noticed her when she stood in front of him, directly blocking his path to Transfiguration.

“Hello, Harry,” Luna said, a serene smile tugging up the corners of her mouth. “It's no surprise you didn't notice me until now, not with all the Wrackspurts circling around your head.”

Harry took another swig of coffee before responding, somehow feeling more tired than he had before. “Hey, Luna. Not to be rude, but I’m going to be late meeting Draco –”

“Good timing, Harry,” said Luna approvingly. “I wanted to speak with Draco as well.” Without another word, she set off towards the Transfiguration classroom, leaving Harry to follow behind in her wake. Sighing, he jogged after her, wishing he had some way to warn Draco about the encounter.

He was stopped again, this time by Slughorn, who wanted to essentially give Harry and Draco his blessing, all the while reaping praise on Draco’s Potions ability. Harry _was_ actually intrigued to hear this, so he let Slughorn drone on for slightly longer than usual before making his excuses.

Upon first glance, Luna and Draco had their heads bent really close together, and, if Harry were to guess what was happened, he’d have said that Draco just apologized for his role in Luna’s kidnapping during the War. His suspicions were confirmed when Luna reached out and drew Draco into a warm hug.

“Harry!” she cried immediately after. “Join us.” To Draco, she said, “Your boyfriend always has extraordinarily good timing.”

He sat down next to Draco, feeling uncomfortable. Fortunately, Luna got right to the point. “Neville mentioned you were having trouble with the press,” she said sympathetically. “He called it, well; he called it a ‘media shitstorm’.”

“More or less,” Harry hedged.

“And I’ve seen people treating you badly,” Luna said, as if that confirmed it. “Has it improved any?”

“Not really,” said Draco, ignoring the Look Harry shot him as he answered Luna honestly.

Luna reached into her bag and pulled out a thick document. Setting it down in front of Harry and Draco, she said, “I want to help you. I know you both tend to be a little closed-minded,” she added, catching Harry’s eye, “But I think this would be good for your reputation as a couple.”

“Are these interview questions?” Draco said with interest, flipping through the parchment.

“Of course they are,” Luna answered. “This way, you can prepare ahead of time. Harry gets grumpy when he has to improvise,” she giggled.

“And you’ll run it in _The Quibbler_?” asked Draco with great interest, continuing to skim the questions.

“Daddy will,” Luna corrected. “You can pick and choose whichever questions you’d like to answer.”

Harry hadn’t said anything since Luna made the suggestion, namely because he wasn’t sure how he felt.

“How about it, Harry?” Draco put a hand on his shoulder, picking up on his uncertainty.

“Er, I dunno,” he responded, picking at a thread on his sweater. “What do you think?”

“I think we should do it,” Draco said firmly.

“But do we really care what the press and the public thinks of us?” Harry wrinkled his nose. “Would it seem like we’re trying too hard?”

“Not at all,” Luna said, answering him even though the question had been directed towards Draco. “Everyone’s really curious about your relationship, Harry. If you answered at least a few personal questions –”

“– then they’d eat it up,” Draco finished.

Harry sighed. He still despised interviews, and being outnumbered was never fun. There were definitely some pros to this ordeal though, so he reluctantly agreed. “Fine. But there’s not going to be a photo shoot, is there?”

Luna looked scandalized. “Harry, you do realize that you and Draco will be headlining the issue, right? We’ll need shots for the cover at the _very_ least.”

Next to him, Draco grinned. “Scared, Potter?” he quipped. Harry took the opportunity to glare at him. “Come on,” he said a moment later, relenting. “This could be fun.”

“You have a terrible definition of ‘fun’,” Harry grumbled.

“We’re doing it,” Draco decided, snatching the contract – which he’d already read, word for word – out of the stack, signing it with a loopy flourish. He shoved it over towards Harry, who sighed heavily before scratching his own name onto the parchment.

“Saturday, then?” Luna asked, folding up the contract and tucking it behind her ear for safe-keeping.

“We’ll be there,” said Draco cheerily. “Should we wear anything particular?”

She raised an eyebrow. “You have a decent sense of style, Draco, but we can’t trust Harry,” Luna said, almost apologetically. Harry took a moment to reflect how rich that was, especially coming from someone who had formerly been known as ‘Looney’ Lovegood. “We’ll have something for you there.”

Harry could tell Draco wanted more details about what they’d be wearing, but the Professor walked in, and immediately started the lecture. Luna had to stay until the practical part of the lesson, when she could slip out unnoticed. Savagely, Harry was glad for her inconvenience, even though he knew she was only trying to do them a favor.

He did his best to put off looking over the questions, but Draco cornered him on Friday after he’d returned home from Hogwarts, having apparently left early just for this purpose.

“Potter!” Draco shouted, jumping into the kitchen and startling Harry as he noisily slurped up a spoonful of stew from the pot merrily bubbling away on the stove, “I know for a fact you haven’t touched those questions, so don’t think you’re getting anything to eat until you’ve prepared something!”

 Moaning and complaining did him no good. Draco simply took the pot of stew, a bowl, and a spoon and locked himself into their bedroom, glaring at Harry all the while. With a sigh, he snagged an apple to content his grumbling stomach, picked up the stack, and started reading. Fifteen minutes later, he was banging on their shared bedroom door in frustration.

“These are terrible questions!” Harry shouted indignantly. “Who the fuck wants to know if you prefer banana nut muffins or chocolate chunk, Malfoy?!”

From inside the room, he could hear Draco laughing. “You’re still not getting any stew, Potter,” he sassed. “If you don’t like the questions, write your own.”

He stumped away and angrily paced around the living room, lost in thought. Finally, after a good half-hour, Harry Summoned parchment and a quill and sat down on the sofa to write, not caring how sloppy his handwriting was. When he finished, Harry thrust the completed list under the door. “Satisfied?” he huffed.

The door opened. “Surprisingly, yes,” Draco said, wiping his mouth delicately with a napkin. “These are remarkably well-thought out, Potter.”

“Can I eat now?” Harry asked. Wordlessly, Draco handed him a bowl full of piping hot stew and a clean spoon. He sat down at the kitchen table to eat, while Draco nipped back into their bedroom and came out with his own parchment.

“I completely agreed with you on the quality of the questions,” Draco said, handing the list to Harry. He quickly read through them, noting how neat and precise Draco’s cursive was, and was interested to note that none of their questions overlapped.

“I was a little shocked, too,” said Draco, watching Harry’s face. “But the issues our questions bring up complement each other, I think. It should prove fascinating for the reader, certainly.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Harry asked. “These are honest questions, question I either ask myself every day or have asked myself before. Should we really reveal so much of ourselves?”

Draco sat on his lap and kissed him deeply. “You sound like me,” he said when they broke apart. “Or, rather, me as I used to sound. A self-respecting Malfoy would have never shared so much private information.”

“What changed your mind, then?” Harry asked, wrapping his arms around Draco’s waist.

“You did,” Draco said simply. “You always wore your heart on your sleeve, and sure, not everyone believed you, but the ones who could see your passion supported you for the long haul.”

“I love you,” Harry said, leaning in to kiss Draco again. “I hate interviews, but I know we’re doing this one for the right reasons.”

“It means a lot to me that you said yes,” Draco said quietly. “I really want to prove that I’m not a heartless bastard who’s just using you for your reputation.”

Harry gently stroked his cheek. “I did promise we’d change their minds, even if we had to do it one by one,” he said softly. “Maybe we’ll knock out more than that in this round, eh?”

Draco laughed, tugging Harry closer. They sat together, entwined on the kitchen chair, until Harry’s legs started falling asleep.

“Hey, Draco?” he said, as Draco walked and he limped into their bedroom.

“Yeah?”

“Your stew was delicious. Think you can make it for dinner again tomorrow?”

Without missing a beat, Draco responded, “Only if you pose nude for the photoshoot tomorrow.”

Harry shoved him onto the bed and tickled him, and soon, it had turned into a full-out war between the two. After a few minutes, he had Draco crying for mercy.

“Alright, Potter, alright! If you make it through the interview and the photoshoot tomorrow, with your clothes on and without murdering someone, then yes, I’ll make the stew again.”

“Good,” said Harry in satisfaction. Draco curled up beside him then, and Harry teasingly tickled down his side until he squealed again.

“I swear, the deal’s off if you tickle me one more time! Damnit, Potter!”

On that happy note, Harry switched off the light and snuggled into bed, pulling Draco close as he carefully kept his tickling fingers to himself.

Ƹ̴Ӂ̴Ʒ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm taking suggestions for interview questions, so if you have any, please post them as a comment below! The more risque the better. XD Also, it would be great if you could specify whether it is Harry or Draco posing the question. Thanks for reading! :D


	12. Obligation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Draco do the interview and photoshoot; Draco and Hermione get drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was quite literally the HARDEST chapter for me to write so far! 
> 
> I should warn you that there is a very minor squick het moment, but it's not like that, I SWEAR. *grins* I think you'll like this one. Enjoy!

Ƹ̴Ӂ̴Ʒ

Why had he let himself be talked into this? Oh, right, Harry reflected sourly, because Draco actually thought it would be a _good idea_. They were squashed together on a small sofa in what was supposedly the _Quibbler_ ’s most cozy interview room, but he had his doubts about that, especially after they passed an adorable kitchenette with a surplus of treacle tart.

“That’s for _after_ the interview,” Luna had specified, leading them through the twisty halls of the _Quibbler_ ’s main office. Harry hadn’t imagined that an office building could be so chaotically designed, even though it was the Lovegoods’ company, after all; memories of the Department of Mysteries flittered through his mind and he had to suppress a shudder.

Draco perched next to him, sitting up ramrod straight as though someone would poke him in the back if he slouched even the slightest bit. Harry wanted to entwine their hands together, maybe even put his arm around Draco’s back, but knew firsthand the professionalism Draco had adopted ever since rebuilding Hogwarts and how loathe he was to depart from it. He settled for leaning back into the sofa, slouching as he uncomfortably crossed right ankle over left thigh.

It had been up in the air whether they would start with the photoshoot or the interview. Luna had taken one look at Harry and declared that they’d all be more relaxed after a good cup of Gurdyroot infused tea. She was off fixing it now while members of her team kept a close eye; probably making sure they didn’t scarper, Harry thought regretfully. He wasn’t entirely sure he’d have been able to resist the temptation if not for fear of what Draco would do when he finally caught him.

All too soon, Luna swept back into the room, Levitating a tray with a bone white teapot and teacups with a matching sugar and cream set. “All set,” she said cheerfully, neatly setting the tray on the table in front of them. “Daddy’s added a new ingredient; it’s quite good now.”

Harry’s doubts were not assuaged. Nonetheless, under Luna’s watchful gaze, he poured a modest cup full of the awful red concoction, spooning in at least three times’ more sugar than strictly necessary for a cup of tea. Grimacing, he managed a small sip, shooting Luna a tight-lipped grin in thanks.

Smiling, she clapped her hands together and went to retrieve their lists of interview questions. Lightning quick, Draco broke posture to pour a cup of tea, whipping out his wand and Transfiguring it into what Harry was almost certain was the decaffeinated black tea he consumed in mass quantities.

“Prat,” he murmured, chancing eye contact. Draco only gave him a smug smile in return, taking a grateful swig.

“Oh, and you have some as well!” Luna chirped on her way back, settling into her squashy armchair. “How do you like it, Draco?”

“It’s wonderful,” Draco – the traitor – responded, holding his teacup at an angle so that Luna couldn’t possibly see it was no longer a horrible shade of blood-red.

“I’ll have to send you home with the recipe,” declared Luna, pouring herself a cup.

There was an awkward silence, combined with the slight nausea Harry already felt from the tea. “Are we ready to get started?” Luna asked finally, dipping her finger into the Gurdyroot infusion and licking it.

“Quite,” Draco confirmed, nursing his tea in what Harry was sure was an attempt to keep from scoffing at her refusal to abide by formal etiquette.

“Alright,” she said, setting down her cup on the table. Grateful for the opportunity, Harry also abandoned his; wishing Draco would have had the foresight to Transfigure his tea as well. “Let’s get right into it, then. Harry, do you want to go first?”

He muttered something noncommittedly and wrung his fingers as she read through his list, not waiting for a response.

“Let’s start with one of the most obvious,” Luna eventually decided, rustling their lists. “Harry, how can you justify dating a former Death Eater who opposed or even opposes everything you stand for?”

Next to him, Draco winced, and his hands – which Harry couldn’t seem to stop staring at – slightly trembled. They’d discussed this question, but there was nothing like being confronted with memories of their unfortunate past.

“Er,” Harry said eloquently. For no other reason than to play for time, he picked up the Gurdyroot tea again and took a swig, instantly regretting it. One look at Draco’s pale face convinced him to keep going. “Draco’s changed,” he mumbled, feeling stupid. There was a slight press on the side of his leg, a weight set on top of his knee – Draco’s hand, Draco breaking his stoic posture in a gesture meant to comfort.

“Draco’s changed,” declared Harry, sitting up straighter and setting both feet on the ground. “He spent all summer here at Hogwarts rebuilding the castle as a way to pay reparations. That’s how we reconnected, actually; McGonagall had us work on a lot of projects together.”

Madly scribbling on a piece of parchment, Luna paused. “He’s helped to rebuild the post-war world, yes, but can you give us another example to help show who Draco is as a person?”

Harry huffed, Gurdyroot tea sloshing over the side of the cup as he gesticulated wildly. “Sure, Draco was a bit of a prat when we were in school,” he said rationally. “We didn’t like each other. But even when we weren’t friends, I knew he didn’t want to be a Death Eater. For Merlin’s sake, when I was caught and taken to Malfoy Manor, Draco said he couldn’t recognize me. If he’d have turned me in, called Voldemort, claimed his reward – that might’ve been the end.”

Luna nodded thoughtfully. “Would you say that Draco’s still weighed down by the same prejudices his family espoused for years?”

“Definitely not,” Harry said firmly. “I think he still struggles with them; has to do with something Hermione calls ‘internalized oppression,’ but no, I think he’s trying to be more open-minded. Honestly, we wouldn’t be together if he was still a hateful git.” Draco unexpectedly snorted, and Harry had the odd feeling he was trying not to laugh.

“And now one for you, Draco,” she said, shifting gears unexpectedly. “On that same note, in clear conscious, how can you ask the Saviour to love you after the role you played in the War?”

“I ask myself that every day,” Draco answered quietly. “For some strange reason, he’s decided that I’m worth loving, worth pursuing. I tried to discourage him once before, when we were initially outed to the media, and, needless to say, it didn’t go well. We’re much better together than we are apart.”

Nodding, Luna picked up the sheet of questions and turned to Harry, presumably about to ask the next one, but Draco hastily added, “After the War, I reached a point where I thought I was irredeemable. Sometimes I still feel that way, but for Harry, I’ll always keep trying to grow as a person.”

It was heartbreaking and touching all at the same time to hear Draco reveal so much. They’d hinted at such things, late at night in the quiet security of darkness, but Harry’d never heard Draco be quite so upfront about his self-worth.

“Harry,” said Luna after she’d finished scrawling out the rest of Draco’s response. “I’m curious to know how this relationship has affected your relationships with friends and family.”

He unconsciously snorted. “How _hasn’t_ it affected my relationships,” Harry deadpanned. “No, don’t write that!” he amended hastily. “Right, I wouldn’t change anything, but Draco coming into my life definitely had a major impact. There were a lot of different reactions. Actually, though, what it’s done is separate out who truly cares about my happiness and wellbeing from those who really couldn’t care less.”

When it was clear he wasn’t going to offer anything else, Luna prodded. “It sounds like there’s a story there,” she said lightly. “Tell us about the reactions of the Golden Trio, Harry.”

“I’d say that the ‘Golden Trio’ is down to the ‘Golden Duo,’” Harry grinned, sliding his hand over Draco’s in an effort to return comfort. “Ron went completely mental when he found out, and hasn’t wanted anything to do with either of us. By refusing to accept Draco, he’s just reinforcing the same types of prejudice he claims to hate. His family,” he added thoughtfully, “has been wonderful. I’ve never felt closer to the rest of the Weasleys’, or even to Hermione.”

“Hermione and I are now very close,” Draco inserted unexpectedly, gripping Harry’s hand tightly. “We’ve always had a lot in common, and though I can never apologize fully for the prejudice I displayed in our early years of school, she’s managed to look past that – as has Harry – to see who I’m trying to become.”

“Fascinating,” said Luna distractedly, still scribbling. They gave her a minute to catch up; Draco Transfiguring more tea while she transcribed. “Draco, is your relationship with Harry something more than just a fling to cope with the aftermath of war?”

Looking insulted, Draco replied, “Yes, of course. Harry and I have always had an _intense_ relationship; we’ve danced around each other for years. Our spark had always been there, but was never able to actualize into a relationship until we were on the same side.”

“How might things have been different if you’d been on the same side during the War?” Luna asked mildly.

Draco sighed. “I try not to think about that, because it wasn’t an option for me. When I was forced into the Dark Lord’s service, it was because he’d threated to harm my family should I refuse him.”

“You didn’t consider the possibility that the Order could protect your entire family?”

“My father wanted me to become a Death Eater,” Draco said evenly, but with a slight edge. “Disappointing him was only slightly less dangerous than defying the Dark Lord.”

“And does your father approve of your relationship with Harry?”

“I couldn’t care less if my father approves. I make my own decisions now.”

The tension in the room was palpable. Eyes narrowed, Draco’s pursed lips suggested he’d quite like to say a few choice words about the direction of the interview. Harry knew Luna’s follow-up questions hadn’t been listed on Draco’s sheet.

“Let’s take one more question each and call it a day,” Harry said quickly, darting his glance between Luna and Draco.

Instantly, Luna turned warm and charming again, a far cry from the interrogative journalist she’d been just a moment before. “Right,” she said smoothly, “Harry, what type of future are you planning to build with Draco?”

“A calm, peaceful one,” Harry replied.

“Not _too_ calm and peaceful,” broke in Draco.

Smiling, Harry gave Draco a playful shove. “I’m sure as long as you’re around, Malfoy; nothing’s every going to be _truly_ calm and peaceful. But excitement is good,” he said, mollifying Draco. “We’d probably lose our minds if life was too boring.”

“Do you have any strategies for keeping the Chosen One from getting bored?” Luna asked, rather tastelessly in his opinion. At Harry’s harsh look, she quipped, “I’m just giving the people what they want.”

“Why yes,” said Draco, blasé as could be. “At one point, I’ll probably end up stripping naked, painting myself gold, and growing a set of wings. Potter never could resist chasing a tantalizing Golden Snitch.”

Harry’s cheeks were burning, even as Luna giggled. “That’s quite enough!” he declared, upsetting his long-forgotten teacup in his haste to remove himself from the sofa. “Luna, I sure as hell hope you got something you can work with, because we are _not_ doing this again. Ever.”

“I did,” she said reassuringly. “You’re going to quite love the article, I expect.” She pointed her wand at Harry’s mess, Vanishing it. “Though I hope you won’t think less of me for some of those questions,” she continued, apologetically.

“You might have to give him a week,” Draco smirked, apparently already over it. “Admittedly, I wasn’t expecting you to expand on our prompts in quite that manner, but I’m glad you did. It made for a better interview.” Harry snorted.  “It did,” Draco insisted, chuffing Harry’s head.

He shook Draco off and patted his hair back down. “Time for treacle tart and home?” he asked hopefully. Even the interview he’d done in fifth year hadn’t been this obnoxiously stressful.

“Picture time!” sang Luna, gesturing for them to follow her into the windy, chaotic hallway they’d come from. Dread filled Harry’s stomach – he’d never been particularly photogenic, after all – but Draco slipped an arm around his shoulder and pulled him in close.

“It’s almost done with,” he said reassuringly. “I bet we can get Luna to give you an extra piece of tart to go.”

“Forget an extra piece, I’m having the whole roll,” Harry declared. “Though how can the photoshoot be worse than the interview?”

The photoshoot was worse than the interview. “Just a little to the right, Harry?” Luna asked for the third time, after they’d already been at it for an hour. 

“Potter, just move your damn arm already,” Draco ordered, losing his posh accent in his irritation.

He was fed up with the situation, but, while usually he’d at least be slightly frustrated with Draco, Harry didn’t have it in him. At least not when Draco looked like he did right now. Luna had dressed him in a snug black turtleneck, styling his hair in a way that made him look soft and loving. Naturally, since she was playing on the whole _opposites_ theme, Luna put Harry in a crisp white button-down and even managed to tame his hair a little.

With what was surely his eightieth sigh of the night, Harry moved his arm a touch to the right, and the cameraman quickly captured the shot. Though Luna loved the idea of the sheer shock value, they’d decided to publish Muggle-style photos because Draco preferred the way the pictures immortalized one instance, one second of time rather than a sequence. He could only hope the expression he’d been wearing wasn’t too disgruntled.

They took sexy shots, Harry in-between Draco’s knees, ready to pounce on his “unsuspecting” lover; sultry shots, with Harry and Draco drinking wine at an intimate wooden table; action shots at a crossroad, where Draco and Harry were positioned on opposite ends but ultimately chose to walk towards each other. Yet that still wasn’t enough to sate Luna.

For their final shot, she had Harry face forward while Draco stood sideways, chest against Harry’s shoulder, forehead and nose resting against Harry’s head. Luna hadn’t instructed him to smile, so Harry looked straight into the camera, exhuming misery at the situation and wishing desperately to be at home, curled around Draco in bed. At this point, he was ready to surrender the treacle tart so long as he had Draco to himself for a long night.

As if he was thinking the same thing, Harry felt Draco relax and push up against his body, eyelashes tickling Harry’s ear as he closed his eyes.

They stayed in that position as the cameraman snapped another thousand shots, only breaking away when Luna went to examine photos. “That’s _perfect_ ,” she declared happily. “That’s exactly what I wanted for the front cover.”

“So we’re done?” Harry asked hopefully, curling his hand around Draco’s wrist.

“You are,” confirmed Luna.

“When will our interview come out?” Draco wondered.

“It depends,” Luna answered. “We’re putting out a special issue, you see. Daddy’s adding some context about your time at school, interviewing a few professors and friends. Oh, and we’ve also obtained photos too, of some of your and Draco’s most memorable moments.”

“Um, Luna?” Harry said weakly. “What exactly do you mean by my and Draco’s _most memorable moments_?”

“They’re nothing bad,” Luna reassured him. “I’ve already gotten Hermione to guest-edit the issue – she even agreed to do an interview – so she’ll have the final word over everything that goes in.”

Harry relaxed. Hermione would surely pare down any of Luna’s more outrageous or embarrassing inclusions, so he didn’t think they had to worry. Exchanging glances with Draco reassured him they were on the same page.

“I would have asked you and Draco,” said Luna worriedly, “but I wanted it to be a surprise, especially after you mentioned how much you hate doing interviews.”

 On a whim, he pulled her into a tight hug. “I trust you,” Harry said, surprised to find that he actually believed it. “You did the right thing, Luna.”

Draco joined the hug, wrapping them all tightly together. “Thank you for having us,” he said sincerely. “After the unfortunate press we had before, it was intimidating, to say the least, to come out publically.”

“You have nothing to worry about,” Luna reassured. “The photos – even as much as you hated taking them, Harry – came out wonderful. I bet I can already guess your favorite!”

“We’ll have to see,” smiled Harry. “So, how about that treacle tart?”

εїз Ƹ̴Ӂ̴Ʒ εїз

Yarn over, push underneath the V. Breath in. Yarn over, pull through the V. Draw up the loop, yarn over. Breathe out. Pull through the first loop, yarn over, pull through all three loops. Breathe in. Unwind more yarn, untwist the excess curled around the chair leg. Breathe out.

It had been a _long_ day. Draco hated to admit that the interview and the photoshoot had taken quite so much out of him, but, truthfully, he was exhausted. After eating their weight in treacle tart and leaving the _Quibbler_ ’s head offices, Harry’d curled up in bed around him, both of them ready for rest and comfort. Thankful for the opportunity to sleep, Harry passed out right away but Draco had been unable to drift off, caught up in worrisome thoughts.

After an hour spent trying not to move too much and disturb Harry, he’d finally decided to climb out of bed and pick up his crocheting. The constant in-twist-out of the hook soothed Draco, and there _had_ been a new pattern he’d been meaning to try for the past two weeks.

Wind rustled the leaves outside, and Draco nuzzled into the sofa as he listened to the comforting sounds of the outdoors. He’d completed seventeen of the nineteen inches he needed to reach before stitching together his hat when there was a noise from the fireplace.

“Draco? Harry?”

He almost jumped out of his skin, crochet hook flying out of his hand and clattering across the floor, but Draco called back, “Hermione, is that you?”

“Can I come through?” He couldn’t identify her tone of voice, but knew she wouldn’t ask to come over at 1:13am unless there was a very good reason.

“Bring wine,” he joked hoarsely, shutting their bedroom door so Harry wouldn’t wake up.

To Draco’s surprise, Hermione _did_ bring wine – two bottles, in fact. “No need for glasses,” she said brusquely, thrusting one of the already-opened bottles into his hands. “Cheers.” She clinked their bottles together, taking a large swig and washing it down with a grimace.

Draco delicately sipped from his bottle, surprised at the quality of the wine. “Wow, Granger, did you spring for these?” he inquired.

“I did not,” Hermione clarified, chin raised in the air. “Ron, well, we were going to share them, for our anniversary…”

Draco didn’t much like where this was going. Much as he thought Hermione would be better off without the Weasel, he did want her to be happy.

“Want to talk about it?” he asked tentatively.

“No. I want to get drunk.”

“By all means,” Draco drawled, picking his crochet back up. For good measure, he pulled his ruler back out and made sure that he did, indeed, still have to add another two inches.

For a few minutes, the only sound was of his hook sliding in and out of the yarn and the noises wine made when it swilled around inside the bottle.

“What are you making?” Hermione asked rather unexpectedly.

“I am making a cat-hat,” Draco answered. “Half-double crochet in back loops only.”

“I do really like that ridge texture,” admitted Hermione.

He opened his craft box, pulling out another skein of yarn and a hook and tossing them to her. “Can you do a half-double foundation chain?”

Hermione shook her head, so Draco showed her, specifying how many inches the piece needed to reach in length and width. She learned quickly, so it was only a short time before they were sat there on the sofa together, hooks working quickly in their yarn. When Draco reached nineteen inches in length, he turned the work and started joining the two ends together with single crochet so the hat resembled a nice, long tube.

“It’s over,” said Hermione finally, her voice cracking. She didn’t stop crocheting, so Draco took her cue and kept working as well. “I broke up with Ron tonight.”

“On your anniversary?”

“I couldn’t think of a better time,” she said, cracking a watery smile.

For some reason, Draco found that oddly hilarious – he blamed it on the glass or so of wine he’d had – and couldn’t stop his uncontrollable laughter from spewing out. He sprawled out on the couch clutching his stomach. In his past life, he might’ve been surprised when Hermione suddenly joined in, but he wasn’t anymore. They eventually ended up plopping down on the floor, rolling around laughing until Hermione’s chuckles turned to tears.

She took another swig of wine to wash them away. “I thought a lot about our conversation last week,” Hermione admitted. “And I realized that I really _wasn’t_ happy with Ron anymore. In good faith, I couldn’t let us celebrate our anniversary and pretend that everything’s normal, because it clearly _isn’t_.”

“Wasn’t,” Draco supplied helpfully, having worked his way through the first third of the bottle, matching Hermione sip for sip.

That set off another round of laughter, and they knocked over Draco’s prized coffee table in their mirth.

“Honestly,” said Hermione, once they’d regained control. “I felt awful about it, but when it was done I just felt this amazing sense of relief.”

“What did you even say to him?” Draco asked. “And, more importantly,” he enunciated, having to work through the wine’s influence, “Why the fuck are you over here sobbing if you’re free now?”

She pushed him over, aiming a pointy elbow into his ribs. “Ouch,” complained Draco. “Fine, I take it back.”

“I’m over here _sobbing_ ,” Hermione said crossly, “Because we’ve been friends for _years_. I do wish him well, of course.”

“You can wish him well while still not wanting to date him and while also disagreeing with his closed-minded idiocy,” Draco said reasonably.

“Cheers,” Hermione said again, proffering her raised bottle. This time Draco clinked it, and they drank deeply.

There was another long silence. Draco stumbled back over to the sofa to snatch the granny square afghan he’d made for their dream house and throw it over him and Hermione.

She sniffled, wiping her eyes before creeping closer and snuggling her head into Draco’s neck. “This is really stupid, but I’m not even going to miss the sex – do you know what it’s like to have your boyfriend flop on top of you like a wet noodle?”

“I can’t say that I do,” Draco answered, a bit dazed at the thought. “And I hope that I never find out.”

“I still can’t shake the feeling I shouldn’t have dumped him,” Hermione said miserably. “What if I never fall in love again and spend the rest of my life alone?”

Draco petted her wild hair, smoothing it back away from her face. “You’re not alone,” he said firmly. “You’ll always have me and Harry.”

“Thanks,” she said quietly, “But you’re going to want to start a life of your own. And my parents don’t even remember who I am!” She broke into quiet sobs again, Draco unable to think of anything to say that would be of immediate comfort.

They lay on the living room floor together as Hermione continued to sob, listening to branches beat against the building.

“It’s much better to be alone than to be in an unhappy relationship,” Draco said quietly. “I should know. I watched my parents suffer that fate for years.”

“You’re right,” she said eventually, determinedly, wiping her snotty nose on Draco’s shoulder, “And I would rather be alone than have to put up with that whining _arse_ hole. But can you do me one favor?”

“Sure?” responded Draco, knowing that, whatever was coming next, it wasn’t going to be entirely pleasant for him.

“Can I kiss you?”

He pulled away enough to look her in the eyes, slightly dumbfounded. “Has the wine addled your brain?”

“I’m not mental,” Hermione said, half-smiling. “I’m moving on. I don’t want him to be the last person that I kissed.”

“Does it count if that person is gay and your best friend?” Draco asked, smirking.

“In my qualified opinion? Definitely not.”

“As you wish,” Draco consented, puckering up in jest.

Hermine laughed and batted him away. “Ew, no, not like that!”

“Then how?”

She leaned in, gently, slowly, and planted a chaste kiss on his lips. It was over in less than a second and gave Draco the impression he was kissing his sister, should he have had one. “Like that.”

“That’s all you wanted?”

“It was. I already feel much better.”

“I’m glad,” Draco laughed, feeling properly tipsy now. “Let’s not tell Harry, okay?”

“Oh, I’m definitely telling Harry.”

“On your own head be it.”

They passed out soon after that, still lying entangled on the floor underneath the afghan. And that’s how Harry found them early the next morning when he lurched out of bed in search of Draco.

That’s how Draco woke up – a very loud call of “love, where are you?” and blinding light shining in his eyes. Moaning, he pulled the cover over his head and dislodged Hermione in the process. “Make it stop,” he groused.

“Morning ‘Mione,” Harry yawned. “Are you having an affair with Draco?”

Only slightly more awake than Draco, Hermione sat up and offered Harry a weak smile. “No. I wish.” She took pity on his confused expression and said, “I broke up with Ron yesterday.”

“Ah,” he said. “That explains the wine. What did you have, a half-bottle each?”

“Sounds about right,” Draco said, muffled from underneath the blanket.

“Do you happen to have any Hangover Potion?” Hermione asked.

“’Course,” Harry said, Summoning it. “Want pancakes for breakfast?”

Hermione pulled the cork out of the bottle and gulped down half of the dose. “That’s better,” she sighed in relief.

“Pass that over here,” Draco said, extracting a hand from the cover to feel around for the rest of the potion. She passed it to him, and he took the rest of the dose. “I feel human again,” Draco groaned, “But it’s still way too early for this.”

“Anybody want pancakes?” Harry asked, stumbling into the kitchen.

“Sure!” said Hermione brightly, looking guilty for having stolen Draco away from him last night.

“Only if you make them with blueberries,” Draco said, crawling back under the cover. Harry and Hermione assumed he would sleep until the food was ready, but Draco was already half-awake. Feeling slightly like a snoop but too comfortable to move off of the floor, he faded in and out of consciousness and listened to them talk.

“ –’Mione, you can’t feel guilty about it. Ron’s been taking you for granted for years –”

“– of course I don’t regret it, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy to leave behind everything we had either –”

“– you really kissed Draco last night –”

“– yes, and you have nothing to worry about, it was like kissing a brother, though he is very attractive –”

“– I do appreciate that about him –”

“– what if I never fall in love again –”

“– I never expected to fall in love the first time; just got lucky I suppose –”

“– Harry, I think I’ve lost my dream –”

“– If anything, death’s inspired me –”

Finally, Draco was shocked out of his half-sleeping, half-waking state as Harry whacked his head with a pillow.

“Wanker,” he said, crawling out of his cocoon enough to flip his middle finger up at Harry.

“I missed you last night,” Harry whispered, kneeling down so he could kiss Draco thoroughly. “I think my body knew you weren’t there, because I was restless all night.”

“Sorry love,” Draco whispered back, pulling Harry in for another kiss. “I couldn’t sleep, and then Hermione came over about quarter-past one, and I couldn’t very well throw her out, could I?” He smiled, letting Harry know he was fine with what had happened.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Harry said, nuzzling Draco’s warm jaw.

“I did miss you too though,” Draco admitted.

“Honestly, Harry!” Hermione chided, channeling what Draco guessed was her inner Molly Weasley. “Food’s going to get cold, and we put all that time and effort in –”

“Are you a witch or not?” Harry shouted back, sneaking one last kiss before pulling Draco out of his afghan-cocoon and into the kitchen.

“Wow, this smells really good,” Draco said, breathing in the bacon-scented air. “Aww, and you made them with blueberries!” he exclaimed, spotting the pancakes.

“No thanks to you,” Hermione huffed, but with a twinkle in her eye. They sat down and started passing the dishes around family-style.

“I’ll take care of the dishes,” Draco amended, spooning extra eggs onto Harry’s plate. “What?” he said in response to Harry’s odd look. “You need nourishment, obviously.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Hermione laughed, pouring three glasses of orange juice. “Just as long as you’re healthy, Harry, that’s all that matters,” she added.

“I assure you, I’m _perfectly_ healthy,” said Harry, grinning maliciously. “In fact, if you weren’t here, Hermione, I’d be chasing Draco around the apartment right now.”

“And why’s that?” Draco demanded.

“Well, you see, yesterday, in our interview, Draco revealed that he intended to keep me entertained by –”

“– Harry, don’t you dare tell her, I swear, I’ll –”

“– growing wings, and painting himself to look like the Golden Snitch so that I’d always want to chase after him.”

Hermine grinned, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “I can definitely help with the wings, but you’ll have to take care of the rest.”

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Harry asked, setting down his forkful of sausage.

“I am,” said Hermione, meeting his eyes.

Draco took advantage of their half-second of distractedness to fling himself out of his chair and flee from their identical evil grins.

Ƹ̴Ӂ̴Ʒ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final pose Draco and Harry do is actually a tribute to my absolute favorite piece of Drarry artwork, which you can find [here](http://nessa-o.deviantart.com/art/Drarry-270180554). 
> 
> If you’re interested in seeing (or making) the cat-hat Draco’s crocheting, you can find that [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NCKi4d1t0vs&t=499s)! It certainly came in handy a couple of weeks ago.
> 
> Finally, have a shout out if you caught my TØP reference XD


	13. Innovation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Draco discuss their futures; the Quibbler exclusive is released.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're going to simultaneously love and hate this chapter! Steel your hearts, and don't say I didn't warn you.

Ƹ̴Ӂ̴Ʒ

“Oomph,” Draco grunted, thumping all the issues of _Brewing Dangerously_ from the last five years onto the table. Even though they were in the library nearly every day, Madam Pince insisted on reshelving the copies when they were through. “So we’ve gone through, what, at least three-quarters of these?”

“Probably more,” Hermione amended, snatching the top copy and quickly skimming it. “I know I’ve read at least nine issues –”

“– and I’ve read at least eight –”

“– so that just leaves us with three more to go. But do we even need to read them? I think we’ve found out enough about the style of the journal and the formatting.”

Draco rustled through his bag until he found the most recent draft of their essay. “I’ve made a few slight changes to this, but it’s definitely not ready to be sent off yet.”

“Right,” agreed Hermione. “There’s some past texts we need to reference – Maculliver’s ‘Intuitive Essential Oils’, for one.”

“Damn Maculliver,” grumbled Draco. “Everything he writes is convoluted. If Snape hadn’t had me memorizing this from the bloody tender age of ten, I wouldn’t understand it.”

“We still have to cite it,” Hermione reminded him. “And we have to credit Jamison for his technique of quartering the beetle’s eyes –”

“– and Hartely’s ‘Purposeful Stirring,” Draco added. “Because we removed every eighth counter-clockwise stir.”

Hermione sighed. “It’s difficult to feel as though we’re really contributing something to the field when we’re relying on the discoveries of all these past theorists.”

“That’s the point, though,” Draco said reassuringly. “It’s a ‘ _conversation_ ’, remember? Slughorn only reiterated that about a million times. We’re drawing on what’s already been done and adding to it – from what we’ve found in our research so far, no one else has ever thought of only adding half the beetles’ eyes at a time or scrambling the yolk before adding the mothwing dust.”

Snapping her fingers, Hermione exclaimed, “That’s what we forgot! To research not only the work being done in _Brewing Dangerously_ , but to trace the Obfuscation Elixir and see what other scholars have said about it to make sure we have an original idea.”

Draco groaned. “Does research ever end?”

“I don’t think so,” Hermione sympathized, tying her hair back. “Slughorn did mention that the elixir hadn’t received a lot of critical attention, so hopefully there won’t be much to dig through.”

“We should make deadlines,” Draco said. “We’re never going to actually _submit_ the blasted thing if we only focus on the research.”

“Agreed,” said Hermione. “How about for the rest of this week, you research the Obfuscation Elixir and see what else has been done, and I’ll continue revising the draft?”

“That works,” said Draco in relief. “I’m not sure I could look at that thing anymore without wanting to wrench my eyes out of their sockets.”

“I know the feeling,” Hermione said darkly.

“Even though this is utterly miserable,” Draco said thoughtfully, “I can’t help but want to pursue it beyond Hogwarts.”

“Potions, you mean?”

“Yes. It’s been a constant of my life for so long, I don’t know what I would do if I _wasn’t_ experimenting with a different brew type or a new sort of solution.”

“Is it something you enjoy, though?” Hermione asked skeptically.

Draco thought seriously about his response. “It is,” he said finally. “I think I’ll do a Mastery in Potions, if I can get into a decent program.”

“That sounds perfect for you,” said Hermione honestly. “You have the demeanor for it.”

“What about you?”

“I could do a lot of things.”

“But what do you _want_ to do?”

“After multiple disasters at the Ministry over the years, I’ve always thought about going into government. Maybe I can do some good there for others. Not only people, but house elves, werewolves, even goblins,” Hermione said passionately.

Draco nodded slowly. “I can see it. If anyone could get those antiquated old goats and biddies moving, it would be you. Will you complete a Mastery first?”

“Most definitely!” exclaimed Hermione, sounding scandalized he even asked. “I want to do a dual specialization: Care of Magical Creatures and Potions. It’s silly,” she said, blushing, “But I always thought I could cure Lycanthropy if I knew enough about the subject areas.”

“That’s a remarkable goal,” Draco said carefully. “You may want to start smaller, though.”

Hermione laughed. “Of course, you idiot,” she said, shoving Draco. “Obviously I’m not going to do it on my first try! What about you, is there an area of Potions you want to specialize in?”

“Physiology,” Draco said immediately. “There’s a reason why I was so interested in the Obfuscation Elixir, you know. It’s fascinating how Potions affect the human body, especially the brain.”

“If we can get this article published, we can get into any school we want,” said Hermione eagerly. “What’s Harry planning to do, then?”

Draco sighed. “Honestly, I have no idea. We’ve never talked about it. He’s only interested in Defense Against the Dark Arts, as I’m sure you already knew, though he’s actually surprisingly decent at everything except Potions.”

Laughing, Hermione nodded. “His OWL results were really good. Last time I checked, he wanted to become an Auror.”

“You’d think he’d had enough danger to last a lifetime,” Draco said resentfully. “Merlin, if he chose that path, I don’t think I’d ever stop worrying about him.”

“Me either,” said Hermione sadly. They sat mournfully for a few minutes before Draco cleared his throat and Transfigured his water into tea for both of them to break up the somber mood.

“Thankfully, _Brewing Dangerously_ will give us their decision within a month of submission,” Hermione said. “And we can put that we have an article under consideration on our apprenticeship applications, since we’ve got to have those off by the end of January.”

“Thankfully,” Draco echoed. “Let’s aim to send it off by the first of the New Year, shall we?” That gave them just over a month to put the application together.

“That sounds like a very reasonable deadline,” Hermione agreed. “Merlin, I wonder how we’ll get everything done, especially with Slughorn giving us extra projects now…”

“He’ll understand,” Draco said firmly. “After all, he’s the one who encouraged us to publish this damn thing in the first place.”

“Regardless,” said Hermione miserably. She picked up their essay and pulled out her quill and red ink, ready to cross out errors and write suggestions in the margins. “We’d better get back to it.”

Draco could only agree.

εїз Ƹ̴Ӂ̴Ʒ εїз

The end of the semester was rather unmemorable, though Harry and Draco did ambush Hermione as well as Neville in several guerilla snowball fights, and they only ended up getting utterly wrecked about half of the time. Harry had another public spat with Ron in the Great Hall and a rather private one in Charms, though Draco heard Harry swear hotly about “scoundrel former best friends” more than once over the following weeks.

Though they’d both received a warm welcome to the Burrow for Christmas, Harry was uncomfortable with spending the holiday in such close proximity to Ron, especially after their most recent blow-ups at Hogwarts. Harry and Draco had collaborated with Hermione on whether or not to attend the Weasley festivities and had learned that, though she also had a standing invitation, she was also leaning towards not going. Other members of the Weasley family disagreed with their decisions but respected them all the same; admitting Ron could ruin the festive cheer at best and start an all-out shouting match at worst.

Not wanting to spend their first Christmas apart, Harry insisted on accompanying Draco to the Manor. He hadn’t spoken with Narcissa since the trials, but was heartened by Draco’s reassurances that she’d readily accepted them being together and was eager to welcome Harry as, if not a second son, than at least a well-cared for son-in-law. A week ahead of the holiday, Draco sent a letter home explaining his newfound friendship with Hermione and his desire to invite her to their celebration. Unless she stayed at Hogwarts, Hermione wouldn’t have anyone she truly cared about to spend Christmas with, as Neville and Luna were also returning home. Fortunately for everyone, over the fall Narcissa had also been working to let go of old hatreds and prejudices and was more than happy to welcome one of Draco’s and Harry’s closest friends. She even sent out a handwritten invitation for the occasion, and, as Hermione informed them later, had even included a very sincere apology for the experience she’d been put through on her last trip to the Manor.

In the end, they had a quiet but joyful holiday; Draco jokingly giving Harry and Hermione lessons on how to abide by posh high-society dining etiquette and customs – Narcissa even joining in at one point to discuss the merits of three-pronged forks as opposed to four – as they experienced a traditionally formal Christmas dinner. Hermione initially objected to the house-elves, but Was coerced after Harry finally told her it would be a good opportunity to revitalize S.P.E.W. by convincing Narcissa Malfoy to take an increased interest in elvish welfare.  Upon hearing her arguments at dinner, Draco insisted that, at the very least, they have monthly vacation days, while Narcissa gave him a death-glare from across the table. As the Malfoys had a quick competition in posturing, Harry shared a secret fond glance with Hermione, reckoning that a summer of hard labor knocked some sense into Draco. All in all, it was a very enjoyable day, which was more than Harry had expected going into the ordeal.

The special issue of the _Quibbler_ came out on New Years’ Eve, over a month after Harry and Draco did the interview and photoshoot. They’d initially spent the first week post-interview peppering Luna (and Hermione) with questions about when the issue would come out, but Luna would only say “soon” each time they asked and offer up a mystical sort of grin. Asking eventually lost its novelty until Harry forgot about the interview entirely. The post came – in fact it was the last delivery of the year – and it was Draco’s turn to pay the delivery owl. He always bitched and complained when that was the case, claiming that the (in Harry’s opinion) adorable screech owl “was a greedy little bastard who couldn’t be satisfied with just _one_ treat,” so Harry didn’t think much of it when Draco yelped and started waving the paper around.

“It’s here!” he cried, shoving the disgruntled owl out the door with no treat and slamming the window shut behind it. “It’s finally here, Potter!” True to his personality, Draco started opening it without waiting for Harry, even going so far as to try and trip him and shove him away for subjecting him to the horrors of the post owl, but eventually Harry elbowed Draco in the ribs and snatched the paper away from him, holding it at arm’s length away so they could both see.

As much as Harry’d hated taking those photos, he couldn’t regret the experience in the slightest after seeing the photo splashed across the front cover: the one of Draco leaning against the side of his head in comfort as Harry fervently wished he could Apparate back to their flat and cuddle Draco.

“Your eyes,” said Draco reverently, tracing his finger over still-Harry.

“Your face,” Harry returned, unable to help from stroking still-Draco’s cheek.

In the picture, they looked broken but together, exhausted yet resolute, and, above all else, filled with a quiet love and respect for one another. It warmed Harry’s heart to see that, somehow, the photographer managed to capture his and Draco’s mutual need for one another even more clearly than if they’d spelled it out.

Once he’d managed to tear his eyes away from the image, Harry was met with the declaration _QUIBBLER_ SPECIAL ISSUE. And, underneath, in much bigger, bolder letters, was the headline: **THE CHOSEN ROMANCE**.

“Wow,” said Harry, struck dumb.

“Holy shit,” said Draco.

He’d been worried that the headline would play somehow on his reputation as “The Saviour” or “The Chosen One” and not only elevate him above anyone else, but then also denigrate Draco with some sort of “Former Death Eater” declaration. Somehow, though, whoever came up with the title – Luna, Hermione, or a mix of the two – managed to get it exactly right. This way, it conformed to the usual sort of play on words while still recognizing that not only Harry, but Draco as well, _chose_ this match.

“Shall we read on?” asked Draco, getting comfortable on the sofa.

“Er, hang on,” Harry said, clambering next to him and quickly scanning the rest of the text. He’d gotten lost in thought, too caught up in his emotions after seeing the title. There were other buzzwords and catchphrases on the cover, such as:

"10 Reasons Their Love Was Foretold;" "Keys to Successful Interhouse Relationships;" "Gryffindors Reveal All;" and, last but not least, "'Better Together' – Exclusive Interview with Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy."

“Let’s skip to the interview, then,” Harry said eagerly. “Look, it even promises more pictures…”

“And if those are anything like the ones on the cover,” Draco said, carding a hand through his hair. Shaking his head, he picked up the magazine and flipped to the middle, where there was an enormous glossy two page spread of their crossroads shot where they were walking determinably towards one another, drawn together in spite of their surroundings.

On impulse, Harry pulled Draco into his arms, sending the magazine to the floor in his haste to be close to him. “I love you,” he whispered. “Thanks for talking me into this.”

Draco squeezed him back, climbing into Harry’s lap. He planted a chaste kiss on Harry’s lips. “You’re welcome,” he whispered back. Breaking away long enough to snag the magazine off of the floor, Draco made himself comfortable between Harry’s legs with his back to Harry’s chest and opened the magazine again.

They continued to flip through the photos, Harry insisting on spending an exorbitant amount of time on each one. “These are amazing,” he said softly, tucking an unruly strand of hair behind Draco’s ear.

“The one on the cover is still my favorite,” Draco declared, after they’d been through the lot of them. Luna allocated six of the magazine’s thirty-two pages just for pictures, and, despite Harry’s conviction that not one of them would come out, they all seemed to turn out great.

“Mine too,” said Harry, “But, you know, we look really fucking _good_ , Draco.”

Draco snorted. “Please, Potter. Like you never knew you were hot. Spare me, why don’t you?”

“It’s not like I didn’t just pay you a compliment too, you great buffoon,” Harry grinned, plastering a wet, noisy kiss behind Draco’s ear.

“Eww,” Draco yelped, “Off, you rabid beast, off!” He jumped out of Harry’s lap and went into the other room where he proceeded to shout, “I’m reading the article without you!”

“Read it to me!” Harry called back. “It’ll sound good in your posh accent.”

He received a grumpy response for his efforts, but he knew Draco was only teasing. Curling up in his favorite sofa crease, Harry closed his eyes as Draco began reading.

**THE CHOSEN ROMANCE**

“Until now, few details have been known about the exact nature of the relationship between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, despite them having been outed as a couple in early September. After the unwarranted intrusion at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Headmistress McGonagall went so far as to restrict journalists and photographers from the Hogwarts grounds, claiming _“Every student deserves a basic level of privacy.”_ For months, the pair has kept utterly mum and avoided the media entirely, even as Potter’s fans and supporters have sought to quench their overwhelming curiosity about his love life.

"And so it is with great pleasure that we of the Quibbler present an exclusive interview with none other than Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, who took the time out of their busy schedules to sit down and chat with us at our main office. To the best of our knowledge, this is the first, and only, media appearance they’re planning to make for the foreseeable future, but any further questions for Messrs. Potter and Malfoy can be directed to the Quibbler’s PO Box in Diagon Alley where they will be stored for future reference.”

Draco paused for breath.

“Kind of long-winded, would you say?” asked Harry skeptically.

“Well, they have to play up the suspense somehow,” Draco said. “And everything they wrote _is_ true, after all.”

“It definitely reads more like Hermione than it does Luna,” Harry laughed.

“Thank God,” said Draco, crossing his heart. “I do like Luna now, but after working with Hermione, I quite appreciate her style.”

He continued.

“Squashed comfortably on our antique burgundy sofa –”

“– Sofa?” scoffed Harry. “Ancient rat-trap is more like it.” Draco silenced him with a Look before beginning again.

“– Potter and Malfoy drink tea. Potter slouches in his seat, one leg crossed over the other, waiting uneasily for the conversation to begin. Next to him, Malfoy sits up straight and proud, acting every bit the proper Pureblood he was raised to be. At first glance, there wouldn’t seem to be much intimacy between the two. However, upon closer look it’s evident that they communicate with minute touches and brief instances of eye contact; when Potter brushes his leg against Malfoy’s, Malfoy responds by angling his body slightly more towards Potter, and vice versa. Their intimacy becomes clearer as the interview progresses. We wanted to get right to the point, and so for our first question, we asked…”

Draco read the rest of the article, pausing briefly to cringe at something either he or Harry had said, groaning audibly before reading certain passages and causing Harry, on more than one occasion, to ask what could _possibly_ be that bad. Finally, they reached the end.

“After spending the last hour having an honest, frank, and rather emotionally charged conversation with Potter and Malfoy, we the Editors would like to offer our congratulations on their relationship and wish them the best for the future. As Potter would be quick to say, everybody makes mistakes. Malfoy provided thoughtful, genuine answers to our questions, and we truly believe he has both made reparations for his choices during the War and expanded significant effort to become a more open-minded individual. It was an enormous pleasure to conduct this interview, and the _Quibbler_ would like to extend our sincerest gratitude to Messrs. Potter and Malfoy for choosing us to make their media debut. For insider bonus content, please follow us on OwlPost.”

Harry snorted. “What’s the betting the ‘insider bonus content’ is really you discussing your desire to dress up as a Snitch for me?”

He knew something was off when Draco only managed a half-hearted chuckle. They sat in silence for a moment, digesting the content of the article. “What do you think?” Harry asked finally, unable to bear it any longer. He stood up from off of the couch and walked into the kitchen, where Draco was using his elbows to lean on the kitchen counter, still staring at the issue. Wrapping his arms around Draco’s waist, Harry gently nuzzled into the back of Draco’s neck.

“It was a good article,” Draco said noncommittedly. He fiddled with the buttons of his sweater, fastening and unfastening it, putting pressure on Harry’s grip.

Harry sighed. “Draco, come on. Just tell me what you really think, would you?”

“I suppose I’m glad that they chose to offer an opinion,” said Draco slowly. “But at the same time it’s depressing they even had to in the first place.”

“We’re never _not_ going to be famous,” whispered Harry. “And I honestly wouldn’t have it any other way, because we wouldn’t be the same then.”

The only affirmation he received was a slight squeeze on the wrist.

“Let me love you,” Harry breathed in Draco’s ear, hovering over the sensitive spot he knew would make Draco sharply inhale.

It only took another well-placed breathy moan before Draco whirled around and clutched Harry tightly in his arms. “I need you,” he whispered.

They kissed slowly, sweetly, until Draco deepened the kiss by running his fingers through Harry’s hair to draw him nearer. As Draco gently massaged his scalp, Harry broke away long enough to groan, “Mm, that feels good, but you’re going to put me to sleep if you keep it up.”

Draco grinned, spirits suddenly uplifted. “And that’s the opposite of what I want right now, I suppose,” he said softly, lips pushed right up against Harry’s. Without another word he worked his hands down to Harry’s hips and nudged him in the opposite direction, trapping him in an awkward backwards dance towards the bedroom.

The covers were warm against Harry’s back when Draco toppled them down onto the bed, letting out a slight _oomph_ from the force of Draco’s shove and from Draco’s body falling into his own, reveling in the adorable blonde hair now covering Draco’s eyes.

“I know you said you wanted to love me tonight,” Draco said, pristinely pushing the hair back behind his ear as he hovered over Harry. “But there’s something I’ve wanted to try for a while now…I thought I might ride you?” His delicate cheeks flushed slightly with this declaration.

Harry worked to keep the smirk off of his own face; as precious as it was to see Draco blush after admitting his fantasies, he did actually want to live long enough to enact them. He settled for saying, quite honestly, “Couldn’t think of anything I’d like more.”

“Good,” Draco said. He started unbuttoning Harry’s shirt, noticing the subtle shiver that went through his body and how his nipples began to harden from the cool air. “That’s literally adorable, Potter, that you’re cold.”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry said without heat. “Let’s see you warm me up, then.”

And Draco did. He left Harry’s shirt unbuttoned and slid down to his knees, slowly unzipping Harry’s trousers, Vanishing his pants, – “Hey, those were my favorite pants!” He exclaimed; Draco ignored him – and drawing out his cock.

A shiver went up Harry’s spine as Draco mouthed at him, darting out a wet, pink tongue to lap up the slight bead of pre-come already forming at the tip. He groaned as Draco pulled away, wetting his lips in an attempt to draw Harry’s attention. It worked.

“I should probably start preparing myself,” Draco said conversationally. He stood up, still fully dressed, and Vanished his own clothing, crossing over to his dresser drawer and pulling out a black butt plug.

Harry, who hadn’t been able to tear his eyes away from the curve of Draco’s arse, suddenly noticed the sex toy. “You have a butt plug?” he said in disbelief. “How did I not know you owned a butt plug?”

Draco snorted. “You don’t know all of my secrets yet, Potter,” he said mischievously. Five seconds later he was back on the bed, hand dripping with lube, before rising up on bent knees to reach behind himself and push the plug into place. It was riveting, watching Draco act so shamelessly in front of him. The shyness was still there, but in a way, Harry could definitely tell Draco enjoyed watching Harry watch _him_ put on a show.

He lazily stroked his cock as Draco continued to work himself open, his muscles slowly yielding to the wide head.

“I’m ready now,” he said breathily, as the plug finally slid into place. Draco replaced Harry’s hand with his soft mouth, hollowing his cheeks as he raised and lowered with just the right amount of pressure. Harry was relieved Draco refrained from teasing him tonight – he couldn’t imagine how painful it would have been to watch Draco touch himself instead. By now, Draco knew all of Harry’s most sensitive spots. He sucked at the protruding vein on the underside of Harry’s cock, took his length in far enough to touch the back of his throat, and recruited his hand to work the shaft while his mouth lavished attention on Harry’s swollen head.

Finally, just as Harry was getting close, Draco gave the tip of his cock a quick kiss and slid off. He couldn’t help from letting out a soft groan of discontent; as wonderful as it would be to have Draco ride him, it would have been almost as equally wonderful to come with Draco’s mouth around him, especially knowing Draco was being stretched and pleasured by the plug.

“I’m ready for you now,” Draco said, seductively swaying his way back up Harry’s body. Harry inhaled at the sight of his beauty; blonde hair mussed from Harry’s own hands, lips red and puffy from Harry’s cock, and his own cock so, so hard from being turned on by Harry…

Draco’s lips met his in a sudden burst of passion, and Harry could feel the way Draco’s love burned behind the kiss, stronger and longer-lasting than the lust. He only hoped Draco could feel his love in return, and did all he could to convey it as their tongues caressed as intimately as their entwined hands.

When Draco again pulled away, Harry tried to tug him back down. “I didn’t even get to touch you yet,” he said huskily.

“And you won’t be getting to today,” Draco sassed, though Harry could tell he was equally affected by the kiss. Apparently he meant what he said, though, because at once Draco reached behind himself again and slowly worked the plug out. Once that was done, he rubbed lube onto Harry’s cock and slowly slid himself down, maintaining eye contact the entire time. Harry had never seen anything hotter in his entire life.

“Oh,” Draco moaned, closing his eyes. “I do love my plug, but you feel so much better, you know.”

“I would hope so,” Harry answered shakily, as it was taking all of his self-control to not thrust up into Draco.

It took a bit for Draco to take all of him; it had been a few weeks since they’d been able to go all the way, with the holidays and all. Several times Draco pulled Harry away from the holiday festivities for shared blow jobs, both making promises to resume things later, but usually finding themselves too tired to continue when they got home.

“How’re you doing?” asked Harry, stroking the light hair on Draco’s thigh.

“Fantastic,” Draco murmured. “I’m going to move now, Potter, and it’s going to feel better than anything than you’ve felt before.”

True to his word, as he started to move, Harry found himself in a deeply pleasurable state where he never knew what was coming next because Draco was varying the depth and speed of his motions. Draco felt exquisite as always, clenched around his cock, but it was very different, not being in control. He decided he liked it, perhaps not every time, but for now it was fantastic.”

They continued on in this vein for a while, Harry trying to ignore the growing urge to come, because if he whined while Draco was in this frame of mind, he was sure to only prolong the experience.

“I’m going to go faster, Potter,” Draco gasped breathlessly. “Are you ready to come, love?”

“More than anything,” Harry grunted, sitting up high enough to grab Draco’s hips. He helped Draco move quicker, helped him fuck himself on Harry’s cock. If he contorted his body just a little bit, he could take Draco’s cock into his mouth, Draco gasping in pleasure, just about to come…

THUMP. He choked, narrowly avoiding biting down as they both jumped in fear and surprise. “What the absolute _fuck_ was that?” Draco growled.

THUMP. THUMPTHUMPTHUMP. The _thumps_ only grew louder until silence was far and few between.

“I swear to God, if I have to get off of you and investigate,” swore Draco. They were still joined together, and he could feel Draco clenching in irritation.

“Hang on,” said Harry, listening intently. The THUMPTHUMP continued. “I think that it’s letters!” he said suddenly. “You know, enchanted missives. The ones that continue trying to get to the recipient at all cost.”

“And so they’re trying to come through our bloody window,” Draco said with an air of suspicious dismissal. “Thanks for interrupting our shag, you twats!” he hollered.

“They’re probably because of that bloody article,” Harry sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “I don’t want to stop, but it’s up to you – keep going or collect the post?”

“Keep going, obviously,” said Draco, rolling his eyes. “But _honestly_ , it’s going to take me forever to get in the mood again.”

Harry reached for Draco’s cock, gently stroking it back to hardness. “You know,” he said, mimicking Draco’s conversational tone from before. “That was a dream, seeing you all spread out before. You can be such a whore, but it’s only for me. Isn’t that right, Draco? Aren’t you like this only for me?” He was taking a risk, calling Draco a whore – they’d never discussed this sort of thing after all – operating on his intuition only.

“What the absolute fuck is the matter with you?!” Draco exclaimed.

For a fraction of a second, Harry feared for his life, well-aware Draco’s weight was still pinning him to the ground. “Um,” he gasped, trying to formulate a coherent sentence, “Er –”

“Eloquent as always, Potter.” Draco rolled his eyes. “Really, though. We have missives bombarding our flat from _every_ direction and you think it’s a good time to call me a whore?”

“I, er, well, I did,” Harry stammered. “I thought it might, well, you _know_ , get you back into the mood.”

Draco considered. “Well, a little,” he admitted. Against their window, there was still an almost-rhythmic _thump_ ing. “…I suppose that’s fine. I wish those letters would _shut the fuck up_ , but yeah, the dirty talk is actually kind of doing it for me.”

“Would you rather I called you slut instead of whore?” It just slipped out of his mouth, but Harry didn’t have time to regret it because Draco was pinning his arms above his head and kissing him furiously.

“See, that’s what I reckoned would happen the first time,” Harry explained, breathless, once Draco pulled away.

“Work on your timing, Potter,” Draco grunted, stroking himself back to full hardness.

“I’ll work on anything you want,” he promised, gripping Draco’s hips. “So long as you promise to wear your plug for me like the whore I know you are.”

Draco moaned. “I am, Harry,” he cried, moving faster. “I’m only like this for you. Only for you. I’m such a whore, God!”

Draco clenched tightly around him then, tighter than usual, and as he came – untouched yet again, Harry noted, with barely any time to gloat – before he was spilling over their bodies and the sight and sensation was enough to send Harry over as well, bucking up hard into Draco as they went over the edge together.

Vulnerable gray eyes were the first things he saw when he opened his eyes. Quickly cleaning them up, he eased Draco off of his cock and into his arms. “I love you,” Harry said, kissing Draco lovingly. “I didn’t mean it, you know, I just thought it might help you get off –”

“I know, you great oaf,” said Draco affectionately, returning the kiss. “I love you too. And I actually did quite like it. But in bed only,” he said, cheeks flushing again. Harry grinned, and Draco rolled his eyes before scooting over and nuzzled himself into the crease between Harry’s neck and chest.

THUMPTHUMPTHUMP.

Draco groaned. “I suppose we’d better let those in?” he asked.

“We’re not reading them tonight,” Harry replied. “Or at least I’m not,” he snapped, wrenching himself away from the comfort and warmth of Draco’s body to open the window and let in a small avalanche of post. “These can wait until the morning,” he said firmly, crawling back into bed and wrapping himself back up in Draco once more.

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Last night had been the most perfect night. Draco never thought living out one of his fantasies could be so much fun – naturally, he expected Harry to agree, at least, but it was especially rewarded to see how he could make them both _feel_. Usually Harry was the one to drive the pleasure. Feeling loved, he fell asleep in Harry’s arms, slept soundly for the entire night, and woke up early to find Harry beaming at him with twinkly green eyes and scruffy hair.

“You’re beautiful, you know,” Harry said, leaning in to give Draco a butterfly kiss. He eagerly returned it. It was theirs, after all; once, it had only been a promise of tomorrow, but now it was a promise as well as a memory.

“Of course I am,” replied Draco. “Now go make me pancakes.”

“Go make you pancakes?” repeated Harry. He raised an eye. “Someone’s feeling awfully demanding this morning…”

“Fine,” relented Draco. “Go make me pancakes, pleases?”

Harry sighed. “I suppose I should be happy with that, eh?”

“Of course.” He closed his eyes again, basking in the affection. After a cheeky kiss that left Draco reeling for more, Harry shucked on a pair of pants and headed off into the kitchen to make breakfast.

Draco caught another fifteen or so minutes of sleep before deciding to go and help Harry with the cooking. It wasn’t fair of him to shirk meal duty all the time, now was it? And anyway, it would be the perfect beginning to the perfect day after having the perfect night.

He pulled on a black pair of pants and ran a comb through his hair, ambling off to the kitchen. Draco expected to be greeted by the smell of fresh oranges, or by sizzling pancake batter. Maybe even a whiff of fresh flowers should Harry have felt one of his lovely creative impulses. Instead, he found an entirely different sight: Harry was sitting on the floor next to the mountain of letters, intently staring at a piece of parchment clutched tightly in his hands.

For some reason, a sick feeling was starting to bloom in Draco’s stomach. The butterflies that sealed together his and Harry’s promise were betraying him, pollinating anxiety instead of love.

“Draco,” said Harry, making eye contact for the first time since Draco had entered the kitchen, “We need to talk.”

The parchment slipped out of his hand, and as it fell to the floor, Draco could make out letterhead from the Magical Congress of the United States of America, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Auror Division.

Ƹ̴Ӂ̴Ʒ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was mean of me, wasn't it? Well buckle up, loves. Draco's in for a bumpy ride!


	14. Separation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry leaves for America. He and Draco exchange letters. Draco manages to get by with Hermione's support until they finally receive some exciting news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dragons_Chaotica, thanks for all the extra help with this one! I'm glad that, between the two of us, we finally got it right. 
> 
> *Update 5.26.17* Thanks again to Kayla (aka Dragons_Chaotica) for revising so much of the letters' content. While I was staring blankly at the text, trying to figure out how I could make the written interactions more believable, you literally fixed everything for me and I just want to cry in relief. <3

Ƹ̴Ӂ̴Ʒ

News of the article had traveled fast. Now that Harry was back in the media’s good graces, he quickly became the Golden Boy once more. They’d hardly received any Howlers at all, and Draco wasn’t even jealous, not this time, as Harry received offer after offer (the mountain of post was only just the beginning) for a myriad of different opportunities. The one that stuck with him, though, as Draco predicted right from that fateful moment on the kitchen floor, was the one for a top tier apprenticeship with the American Auror Division.

Predicting that Harry would want to graduate with full NEWTs, the American DMLE offered to fund private tutoring and coursework at Ilvermorny so that he could prepare for the tests and take them at the end of the semester. When Harry wasn’t studying, he would be training with the top class of newly admitted Auror recruits.

Draco reckoned that nothing had ever appealed to Harry more. Ever since receiving the offer, he’d been ecstatic, trembling with excitement at the merest mention of the program. He felt so useless, Harry said, now that Voldemort was gone. It had been his only purpose; all he’d ever known. And now he had the ultimate offer that would allow him to get back into the game.

The British Auror Division tried to woo him as well, and Draco wished more than anything that he’d accept their offer, but Harry had no interest in working for the Ministry of Magic. He still thought of it as corrupted and ineffectual, even after the problematic employees had been purged once Kingsley took office as Minister of Magic. Draco tried to reason with him, tried to pull on his heartstrings by saying that if he did a similar program in London, then they would be closer together. Nothing could persuade Harry otherwise; he was incredibly stubborn once his mind was made up.

At first he’d expected Draco to come with him. Harry asked Draco why he wanted him to accept the offer and stay in London when they could be perfectly happy together in the states. Draco had to remind Harry that the offer had been for _him_ , not Draco, and no he should not just assume they’d be willing to sponsor Draco’s education as well just because the Saviour requested it. He also had to remind Harry that he was still bound by his reparations stipulated by the Ministry, and he was required to graduate from Hogwarts.

Harry said he’d decline the offer, if it meant he’d have to leave Draco behind. On the third day after they’d had the conversation, Draco watched as he, very sadly, sat down to write a declination letter. It was worse than ripping out his own heart, but Draco found it in himself to tear up Harry’s letter and tell him to go to the states. He wouldn’t have been able to live with the guilt otherwise. Also the small fact that Harry would have resented him for the rest of their natural lives.

It was only an apprenticeship. A six month apprenticeship. By that time, the new recruits would be tested and the Divison would decide who they wanted to bring on as full-time Aurors. The rejects would have to find work elsewhere, but Harry could _choose_ to apply anywhere after the six months were up and he could return to Draco at that time. They’d only just about had their six-month anniversary and now they would be separated for the following six months. Either life was unfair or it came with the territory when dating the Saviour.

Only six months until Harry returned. No, only five months and twenty-seven days, Draco counted, etching an X into the oppressively empty calendar square. He sat back down on the couch and pulled out his navy blue cotton yarn, tying a slip knot before starting on his third herringbone half-double crochet dishcloth. He’d vowed to crochet one for each day he and Harry were apart. Only two days previous, after he and Harry said their goodbyes, Draco nearly had a panic attack on the living room floor. Hunched over, head between his knees, he sobbed uncontrollably thinking about how, every moment from now on, it would be just him. Living without Harry. Draco allowed himself this extended moment of melodrama. He’d be slightly more okay after a while, but for now, while the pain was still fresh, for some twisted reason it felt better to revel in it.

Fuck Hermione and Neville anyway, with their sympathetic “This will be good for you!”s and their “Your relationship will become even stronger while you’re apart”s. Fuck them with an Erumpent horn. Because why would he willingly choose this for him and Harry?

Floo calls were not a sustainable solution, not with the time difference and the way their schedules worked out. In the grand scheme of things, it was just another obstacle making things less bearable for Draco.

They’d promised to write letters, but words on a page were no substitute for seeing the crinkles form around Harry’s eyes when he smiled, no substitute for feeling Harry’s arms tighten around him when they hugged or cuddled. There was no substitute for the feeling of being loved.

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Draco paid a visit to the Manor. He and Mother somberly drank tea together in the green room, gazing out at the melancholy grasses which were powerless against the strong January gusts of wind. Draco let his vision fade, the blades blurring together in his mind, picturing that sweet day in the summer where he brought Harry back to the Manor to show him the butterfly garden.

It was cold and dreary, but he summoned up the fortitude to go out there anyway, bundled up in a coarse black coat buttoned all the way up to his throat. The lavender plants, so bountiful and productive in the summer, were faded and discolored in the winter, receding to the smallest amount of space they could possibly occupy. They were like a living metaphor for his heart, Draco thought miserably as he walked down the neat rows cast by the undergrowth.

Eventually he reached the outer edge of the garden, where he couldn’t help but to sink down next to the saddest, loneliest plant. The soil was cold against his trousers, but numbness was part of him now and he couldn’t really feel anything, not even the hot tea Mother insisted he drink earlier. Draco wanted to have faith, wanted to be able to trust in the strength of Harry’s love for him and his for Harry, but the fear was ultimately too strong.

This, though. This was the life he should have been living ever since summer came and went – a life without Harry in it. To delude himself into thinking they would be anything more was simply a fool’s errand. Could he bring himself to regret their relationship? Draco wasn’t sure, but what he did know was that, by any means necessary, he wanted the pain to stop.

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_Draco,_

_I’ve made it to the states safe and sound. It’s quite cold here, not colder than Britain, but somehow I expected it to be more tropical. And for some strange reason, they call Muggles “No-Majes.” I don’t expect I’ll ever get used to American customs, no matter how long I’m here. Do me a favor and have a strong cup of tea, because all anyone brings into the office is coffee. Right strange, that is._

_Yours,_

_Harry_

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He tried to write. He really did. But the words wouldn’t come, no matter how hard Draco willed them to flow onto the parchment.

Rather, the words he _should_ write were the ones that wouldn’t flow. Words like “happy” and “content,” phrases like “I’m doing fine” and “I’m glad you’re getting along in the states, even if everything’s not perfect.”

The words he holds back, about being hateful and angry at Harry for leaving him, about the sadness that’s flowed over him like a sickness ever since the first day they’ve been apart? Draco feared those would be expressed all too well should he put the quill to the parchment.

In the end, he just doesn’t send a return letter at all.

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_Draco,_

_Things are improving, I suppose. It would be nicer if you’d reply. I found a decent tea shop down the street from the office and have managed to make Warming Charms last long enough so that I can get some bloody sleep. My next-door neighbor, though, he’s a right prat. Reminds me of Ron, honestly. That’s something I’d rather not think about, so I’m going to go back to work._

_Love,_

_Harry_  

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The quill felt heavy in Draco’s hand. Their flat is cold too, and he still hasn’t figured out how to make Warming Charms last longer either. He could ask Harry, but somehow, it seems dishonest to write about trivial, unimportant things when there’s a literal war going on inside of him. Once again, Draco doesn’t write back, even though it makes him feel like scum. 

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_Draco,_

_Are you alright? I haven’t heard from you in nearly a week, and I’m starting to get slightly worried. More than slightly, actually. I had to write to Hermione just to find out if you were still alive, Draco. I know you’re still upset, but for God’s sake, don’t make me worry about you like this. Send me a piece of parchment with your name on it, I don’t even care. Just don’t ignore me anymore. It’s uncalled for. And you haven’t responded all week._

_Harry_  

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Draco wrapped a red and gold dishcloth in tissue paper before sealing it in a small box and handing the parcel to the owl. “Take this to him,” he said. “And tell him…tell him I’m sorry.”

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_Draco,_

_The dishcloth is beautiful. I won’t actually use it to clean my counters because I’d manage to ruin it somehow. But just having it makes me feel a lot better. Not quite as good as you writing, but I guess I’ll take it as a substitution._

_Love,_

_Harry_  

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_I’m glad you like the dishcloth._

_DM_

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He spent the next week fielding letters from Harry that demanded a response.

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_Draco,_

_Why do I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me? Don’t take this the wrong way, but you usually never shut up. Even when you write letters, they’re pages long. Why won’t you talk to me? Find someone new?_

_Harry_  

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_Harry,_

_Don’t overthink things. Merlin knows what happens when you try to process information._

_DM_

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_Draco,_

_You’d be pleased to know that I’m top of the class in Logic & Reasoning. Now what won’t you tell me?_

_Harry_

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_Harry,_

_I don’t think it counts if you’re less than a week into the semester. Put your inductive reasoning skills to use elsewhere, Sherlock._

_DM_

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_Draco,_

_Did you seriously just reference Muggle pop culture? That’s it; I think I’m secretly talking to Hermione. A mermaid would walk before you admitted to reading Muggle literature, Mr. Knitting Pureblood._

_Harry_  

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_Harry,_

_Hermione doesn’t know about what you called me in bed a couple weeks ago. If you don’t want her to know, I suggest you shut up, you bloody twat._

_(Amigurumis, you prat? I enjoy some parts of Muggle culture.)_

_DM_  

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_Draco,_

_Well then I suppose she also doesn’t know how you reacted to it. It wouldn’t be fair of you to only tell her one part of the story, now would it? Seriously though, what’s going on with you? Hermione’s letters are full of back to school gossip and reminders about NEWTs. Why haven’t you said anything?_

_(You know, I’d forgotten them. Maybe you should talk to me more.)_

_Harry_  

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_Harry,_

_Why would I need to remind you about NEWTs, seeing as Hermione has already mentioned them and she’s going to be on your case all semester long anyway? Just having a bit of a sulk that you’re gone._

_DM_

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_Draco,_

_You’ve got two days to tell me what’s wrong. After that, I’m coming back to Hogsmeade and you can tell me in person. Merlin knows you can’t bring yourself to keep to a deal._

_Harry_

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_Harry,_

_What do you want me to say? I’m just (And I’ll feed you to a gnome if you show this to anybody you bloody prat) a touch unused to you being gone. I’m sulking like a bint. It’s pathetic, really._

_DM_  

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_Draco,_

_Inductive reasoning aside, I don’t know how much clearer I could have been. Time’s ticking._

_Harry_

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_Seriously, what do you want me to say? I’ve told you what’s wrong! I just wish you were still here, is all. I think I’m angry you left when things were going well, but we did agree on it. A deal is a deal._

 

_I'm not saying I blame you, just that, I’m just…titchy._

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_Draco,_

_We agreed on this. Together. You said you didn’t want me to give up anything for you, so I won’t._

_Harry_

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_Are you just parroting things I send in your next letter? With a distinctly priggish dictation, might I add. I was there, I know. I can’t exactly help being titchy. You’re off on an adventure; I’m still quite hated in London. Of course I miss how it is with you here._

 

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_Draco,_

_Unless you tell me what you want, I’ll never know. Don’t ask, don’t get._

_Harry_

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_I want you to be an Auror. Stateside. As we discussed. My missing you doesn’t mean I don’t want you to do what makes you happy. I just also want you here. Give me a week; I’ll get over it._

 

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_Draco,_

_Stop being melodramatic. For Merlin’s sakes, it’s just for a semester. Then everything will be back to normal again._

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_Have you read my letters? And what about my career goals? The top Potions program in Physiology is in France. Would you be willing to work for the French Aurors? I don’t think we thought the “giving up anything” clause quite through._

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_You’re being ridiculous. I can’t even speak French, Draco. Some of us didn’t grow up with the same luxuries you had as a child. And besides, didn’t you say that you wanted me with you? Quite hard if you’re not where I’m going to be. I would be willing to come back and work for the Ministry if you went to school in London._

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_I’m not going to go around lessening myself so that you can live out your dreams as the Golden Boy, Potter. With my past already against me, if I get into the best school for my specialization, I’m going. I need to do that. If I don’t I’ll just be glared at forever._

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_We’re going to be apart for quite longer than just a semester, then. I hope you can handle that. Since you’ve handled it so well up to now._

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_Obviously. It’s a long program. I’ll get used to it._

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_Your call._

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_You asked me what I think. I have more._

_You’ve talked down to me for months. You coddle me like a runt Crup when we’re together, and treat me like an idiot when we’re apart. I can’t do that. And now you’re holding our relationship above my head to determine where I go to school or my general emotional state?_

_Fuck yourself. I won’t do that. I’ll remove your leverage. I’m afraid I’ll need to end this relationship. You’ve forgotten I do have some pride left._

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After sending the final letter, Draco sat on the sofa, breathing deeply. He tried to cast a Patronus and send it to Hermione to let her know what just happened – she knew that they were fighting, but nothing of this magnitude – but it’s like he was his own personal Dementor, having snatched his happy memories away interminably.

It’s another hour before Draco dragged himself off of the sofa, tear-stained and aching, and ambled over to the Floo to firecall Hermione.

“Hermione?” he gasped, forgetting how to breathe through the hot ash.

“Draco?” she called back, slouching into the living room in flannels with her bushy hair tied back. “Are you quite alright?”

That’s all it took to set him off again. Soot doesn’t taste good when it’s inhaled, but then again, it wasn’t like Draco could taste much anyway.

“What happened?” Hermione shouted, alarmed. “Oh, bloody hell – stand back, I’m coming through.”

He wrenched himself out of the fireplace, wrapping his arms around himself in an effort to breathe deeply, to calm down. It didn’t work. Shallow breaths plagued him. He couldn’t draw air further into his lungs. It was stuck. He couldn’t breathe. Fell. Hands and knees. Couldn’t breathe. Air stuck. Weight pressed down on his chest. Sound of air whooshing through his ears.

Suddenly, firm hands pushed him back on his bum. “Breathe, Draco,” a voice instructed. “Slowly. In…two… three… four… out… two… three… four. Come on now, you’re not even trying.”

Pressure on his wrists. “Look at me. Look at me!” He was being shaken. No choice but to look up. Bright, much too bright. Frightened eyes stared into his. “Draco. Come on, Princess. Breathe with me. In… two… three… four… out… two… three… four.”

He followed instructions, holding eye contact all the while. It got easier as they went. She breathed with him, over-exaggerated the noises of inhaling and exhaling.

A few minutes passed. “Do you feel better now, Draco?” Hermione asked, sounding very far away.

“N-no,” he managed. Everything still felt wrong.

“Biscuits and tea,” Hermione determined.

“Wh-what? –”

“Biscuits and tea.”

Ten minutes later, he crunched blandly on a chocolate chip biscuit while Hermione poured hot water into his favorite teacup. Gratefully, Draco tossed in his teabag, pouring in the milk without waiting for it to properly steep. 

Hermione sat in the chair next to him, putting a warm hand on his forearm. “Do you want to talk about it yet?” she asked mildly.

“I dumped him. That’s really all there is to say.”

He hadn’t intentionally waited until she took a sip of tea to say it, but it turned out that way. She sprayed tea all over the table, coughing.

“You – what?” she sputtered, wheezing.

“You didn’t think I pulled you through my fireplace and had a panic attack for funsies, did you?”

“Well, no,” Hermione responded, miffed. “I just assumed Harry was going to stay in the states longer, or something of the sort.”

 “He might.” Draco said, clearly bitter. “That’s what he wants anyway,”

“How did this even happen?” Hermione asked, wiping up tea with one of Draco’s few usable dishcloths.

“He was being an arse,” Draco grimaced. “Here.” He thrust a pile of neatly organized parchment at her. “You can read the letters. I made copies.”

He was sure that it was only the gravity of the situation kept Hermione from commenting about his love of filing and copies. He couldn’t watch as she read them; instead, Draco concentrated on trying to get his hand to stop shaking long enough to pick up his teacup.

Just as the tremors started to cease, Hermione exclaimed, “How could he actually say that? The Harry I know would never have written ‘don’t ask, don’t get!’”

“The Harry I knew would never do that either,” said Draco, abandoning the tea momentarily in favor of a tissue. “He also wouldn’t talk about me like I was a disorganized loon. Or try to corral me somewhere I hated.” He wiped his eyes.

“You’re right, I think,” Hermione said thoughtfully. She paused. “I don’t think he knows how to separate what he thinks he should want from what he actually wants.”

“You know what scares me more?”

“What?”

“That he knows exactly what he wants.”

Hermione didn’t say anything else, but she stood up to hug Draco from behind, her bushy hair falling over her face as she buried her head in the crook of his neck.

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He was dragged out of a fitful sleep later that night by the feeling of the wards chiming. Sluggish and slow, Draco grappled for his wand to cast a _Lumos_.

As soon as it lit, however, he was disarmed by a very, very angry Harry.

“Draco, you seriously made the wards chime for my arrival the day after you broke up with me?” Harry leered over him; face a picture of pure menace, his glare only accentuated by the shadows cast by his light. “There’s an indentation on your right side, Draco. Two people were in this bed.  Who’s here with you? How long have you been cheating on me?”

“What? I never –” Draco stammered. He scrambled back in the bed, startled, as Harry stepped nearer, wand raised.

“Then why break up with me? Why act like I’m a guest in my own home?” He kept his wand trained on Draco, who shivered at the thought that Harry might hurt him.

“Because you’re being a complete _arse_ hole!” Hermione’s voice echoed through the room. She stood upright in the doorway, having just come out of the bathroom. Wand raised, she stepped into their bedroom. “Harry James Potter! How _dare_ you threaten him like that!”

“I’ll threaten whoever I want,” Harry snarled.

“Thanks Hermione, but I’ve got this.”  Hermione only retreated by to the doorway, quiet and worried.

Moisture built in the corners of Draco’s eyes but he ignored it. “I thought you trusted me, but then again I thought a lot of things, didn’t I?” He stood up and grabbed his own wand, turning to look Harry dead in the eye. “I love you, but you’re not going to shit on me like the cretin you are, Potter.”

“You can understand why I thought that, though, couldn’t you?” Harry dove across the room to block Draco’s path. “We can still fix this, Draco. Please. Just come to the states and do your Mastery –”

“I already told you!” Draco cried. “I want to go to _France_. How can you even ask this of me after being in the states for only two weeks?! And lest we forget, I can’t even go where _I want_ until I graduate!”

“It feels more _right_ than anything else has in my entire life,” Harry said. Draco could see his sincerity showing through. “I want you to come live with me. You’ll love the American Aurors, they’re so much different than the ones in Britain –”

“Your job feels righter than me?”

“Draco –”

“That’s what you said, isn’t it, that it was righter than anything had ever been for you before. Including me.”

“That’s not what I meant –”

“It _is_. Why don’t you just go marry it, then, Potter?” Draco hissed, too angry to flinch at the childish phrase.

There was pain in his chest, his stomach, his head. How was it possible to see red and feel like you’d been stabbed in the gut at the same time? Draco couldn’t look at him any longer.

“Get out,” he said. “Just get the fuck out. Take your things with you, because I’ll burn anything you leave here.”

 “I don’t want to fight with you, Draco,” Harry said. “I want you to let me love you.”

“It’s not like I was stopping you,” he said through clenched teeth, harnessing the despair and anger inside of him. “Even if you _do_ love me, you don’t get to decide how I live my life.”

“You’ll miss me, you know.”

“I’m sorry. You’ve treated me like shit. You turned up in the middle of the night, accused me of cheating, drew your wand on me, threatened me, but _I’ll miss you_? That’s your parting shot?” Draco sneered. His fingertips flicking to activate his wards, and staring coldly as Harry was removed from the residence.

 

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“Get up.”

“No.”

“I swear to God, Malfoy, get up!”

“Make me.”

“So help me, if I have to pull you out of that bed by your ears, I will! Don’t think I didn’t learn anything from Molly Weasley after all the years I’d been friends with her son…”

Two weeks had gone by since he’d left Harry, causing Draco to fall into a depression. Missing the better treatment with the Golden Boy. He perfunctorily kept up with all his responsibilities related to academics, but failed to take care of himself in the most basic of ways. Though never a glutton, Draco couldn’t remember the last time he ate a proper meal. He didn’t care to. Again, without Harry, the local shopkeepers were less keen to forgive his existence.

Hastily casting a protective charm over his ears, Draco burrowed himself deeper into his afghan cocoon.

“We should find out about whether or not our article’s been accepted soon,” said Hermione soothingly, trying a different tack.

“I don’t care,” Draco said, voice muffled, “This is the first day I’ve had to myself in a week. I’ll stay in bed till midday’s gone if I want.”

“Have you even started working on your Potions Mastery applications yet?!” Hermione demanded.

Silence.

“Draco,” said Hermione despairingly, “You’ve only got two more weeks to get them in!”

“I don’t care,” said Draco again, subtly worming more securely into the afghan.

“Of course you do,” Hermione murmured. “Oh, Draco…” There was a slight dip to the bed as she climbed in, demolishing the outer wall of his casing as she snuggled up behind him.

  It initially felt weird – other than that one time on the living room floor, no one besides Harry had ever cuddled him – and Draco was tense until Hermione reached out and pulled him back against her chest.

“You’re really taking this hard, aren’t you?” she sighed.

Draco was silent. Somehow, it was nice to feel a warm body next to his. It was nice to feel loved, even if it was platonic, because no one had touched him in over a month other than when he hugged Mother goodbye so many weeks ago.

“Why did I do it?” he asked finally, voice husky.

“Because you have some self respect? Because he didn’t treat you right?” Hermione rattled off.

“But I still love him,” Draco mumbled. Fighting back the smallest of sniffles.

 “When I’m with him, no one else’s opinion mattered.”

“You’ll be stronger now because you have to be,” Hermione said firmly, running her fingers through his hair. “What other option do you have?” They were silent for a while, until she sighed, “That’s how I’ve been coping, anyway.”

Overcome with empathy, Draco rolled over on his side to stare deep into Hermione’s eyes. “We’re pitiful, aren’t we?” he deadpanned.

“Definitely,” Hermione agreed, putting a hand on Draco’s crossed forearms. “At least we’re pitiful together, right?”

“Move in with me,” Draco said suddenly. “No, fuck Hogwarts,” he said as Hermione opened her mouth to protest. “I’ll lose my mind if I have to stay alone in this empty flat any longer. I can’t just have “empty flat” and “hostile school” for residency.”

“On one condition,” Hermione conceded. “Since Ronald and I broke up, well, I haven’t been able to sleep in an empty bed.”

“Merlin, me either,” Draco groaned. “I guess that settles where you’ll be sleeping.” He mustered up a smile.

“I’ll go and get my stuff tomorrow,” Hermione said, closing her eyes. “Right now sounds like the perfect time for a nap…”

“Done and done.” Draco closed his eyes too, reveling in her warmth, in her humanness. He hadn’t had nightmares when Harry was with him, but in his absence they’d returned. Hopefully Hermione’s presence would be enough to chase them away.

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 “Can you proofread this for me?”  
“In a few minutes. I have to finish this Potions essay for Monday –”

“Hermione, no offense, but hang the Potions essay! I have exactly four hours to submit these applications before I have to wait until next year!”

“Well, Draco, that just goes to show that you shouldn’t have waited until the last minute to write your statement of purpose!”

“Look, are you going to help me or not? This is the first goddamn first day I’ve been motivated enough to think of life after graduation.”

“Pass is over here, then.”

“Thanks, Hermione, you have no idea what a lifesaver you are –”

“You’re not just doing this because of Harry, are you?”

“Excuse me?!”

“Your career was a huge part of your fight. I just want to make sure you’re applying for the right reasons, after all. Not because you feel like you have to follow-through because that’s what you told him you wanted to do?”

“Why is that any business of yours? Also, if you’d actually read my statement of purpose, you’d know I have very _good_ reasons as to _why_ I want to get into these Mastery programs. And, if you’d listened to literally _anything_ I said when we were talking about schools last month, you’d know that the best Potions Mastery program in Physiology is in France. ”

“France?”

“France.”

“My top school’s in France too.”

“Great, that’s even more of an incentive for you to help me then.”

“You’re lucky I need someone who can speak French.”

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They ran out of milk, and so Draco’s forced to go buy some more. His tea, which already only provides the smallest modicum of comfort, is simply unbearable without it.

He walked down the bustling, cheery streets of Diagon Alley, dodging several teenage girls and heading for the corner market that sold top quality goods at a fair price.

On the way, he passed a small flower shop. On a whim, Draco turned around, deciding to go in. The shop is beautiful, but he doesn’t take any of it in. The beautiful bouquets of sunflowers and roses don’t catch his eye. Neither do the carnations, the peonies, or the hydrangeas.

Instead, Draco was drawn to the back wall of the shop, where several displays of somber flowers had been arranged. He walked right up to a stark arrangement of white lilies and roses. Leaning forward, Draco cupped the bottom of one of the lilies and deeply inhaled the sweet, fragrant scent. Immediately, in that one moment, he was all the funerals he’s ever attended, breathing in the aromatic smell that comes after a death.

It’s morbid, it’s grotesque, but he leaned back down and inhaled again. After a month and a half of nothing feeling right, this one flower made Draco feel as though he’d come home.

Just because it’s macabre doesn’t mean they aren’t nice.

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“Why is the floor covered in dishcloths?”

“Should the floor not be covered in dishcloths?”

“You don’t even wash dishes by hand, for Merlin’s sake!”

“I can start any time.”

“For Merlin’s sake, Draco, I _bought_ you a trunk to put all of those in!”

“I like to look at them.”

“Why?”

“They’re tangible. NO DON’T TOUCH THAT.”

“SORRY. How about some acrylic so you can make afghans?”

“I like _cotton_.”

“Can you at least use some different colors? Something more cheery?”

“There’s no need for cheery. Navy matches my soul.”

When Draco came to bed later that night, he found a navy blue bedspread and matching fleece blanket underneath. The material was soft and warm against his cheek as he snuggled up against it.

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It was an ordinary day. Draco went to his classes, worked with Neville in the Hogwarts greenhouses, and came home sweaty, muddy, and in a slightly better mood than usual. They’d talked about ordering Chinese for dinner during their break, and Draco only hoped Hermione had followed through.

When he came home, though, the flat was dark. The sun had gone down, yet Hermione hadn’t turned off the lights. Was she even here?

“Hello?” Draco called into the darkness, bending down to unlace his shoes rather than toe them off.

“In the kitchen.”

Her response was faint and his immediate thought was that someone died. “Is Harry okay?” He raced into the kitchen and cast a _Lumos_ only to find Hermione sitting at the kitchen table with two neat piles of letters in front of her.

Draco stopped short. “Are those what I think they are?”

“They are,” said Hermione miserably.

“How long have you been sitting here looking at them?”

“Since just after our last class.”

“Have you eaten?”

“How can you think about eating at a time like this?! Our futures are in these envelopes, Draco!”

Sobered, Draco sat down in the chair across from her. “Okay,” he said reasonably. “We’ll open the letters. Then, no matter what happens, we get Chinese. Because you’ve gone and got me addicted to the stuff.”

“How are you so calm about this?”

“I meant what I said to Harry. No matter what happens I won’t go with him. So even if I don’t get into the Mastery program, then I’ll work on finding Potions Masters and persuading one of them to take me on as an apprentice.”

“And if that doesn’t work?”

“Let’s not talk about Plan C before Plan A fails. So. What order are we opening these envelopes in?”

“I thought we’d do the one from _Brewing Dangerously_ first?”

“Merlins beard, our futures are really being decided now, aren’t they?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, Malfoy.”

Hermione’s pile was a lot larger than his was, but, then again, she’d applied for more programs. Draco really only wanted to get into the school in France.

“Do you want to do the honors?” she asked, holding the black envelope out.

Draco accepted it with shaking hands. “You know,” he said weakly, “The last time I accepted correspondence, it really didn’t go that well.”

“Should I do it then?”

“I really think you should.”

Trembling, he handed her the envelope. They briefly made eye contact, and thousand things seemed to pass between them before she looked down to open it. The tearing of the paper seemed too loud in the quiet room, but soon enough the wrinkled envelope was on the table as she unfolded the envelope. Draco took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

“WE GOT IN!” Hermione shouted, blasting out his eardrums in her excitement. “Draco, they accepted our article!”

“What?!” he exclaimed, leaping up in excitement. “Seriously?”

“Almost,” she admitted, causing his heart to drop. “We got a ‘revise and resubmit,’ but Draco, that means they’re going to publish it! From what it says here, they just need us to clarify what the finished result is supposed to look and taste like. Basically, we fix it up, send it back in, and then they publish it!”

He sank back down into his chair, reaching up with his muddy hands to massage his temples. “This feels unreal. Hermione, are we dreaming?”

“We’re not,” she said, beaming, pushing her chair back and making her way across the kitchen to hug him.

He held on a moment longer than necessary, breathing in the scent of her strawberry shampoo.  “Thank you,” Draco murmured. “I could have never done this without you.”

“Oh, yes you could have,” Hermione said, amused. “We do make a wonderful team, though.”

“Should we power through the rest of these envelopes?” Draco asked, releasing her.

“I’ll open yours, you open mine?”

“Deal.”

He opened the one from Australia first, informing Hermione of her acceptance upon unfolding the parchment. She nodded briskly – like him, her top school was in France. Hermione was also accepted into two schools in Brazil, and one in the Caribbean.

“Scotland’s next.”

“Oh, you have one from Scotland too.”

They opened the envelopes at the same time, though Draco was slightly more nervous now that one of his chances was on the line. It was nerve-wracking as well that Hermione had already received so many acceptances…

“You’re in,” Draco said. He looked up. The look of sympathy on Hermione’s face was telling enough. “Fucking Scotland.”

“We’ll put that one on my ‘decline’ list,” Hermione said. “I’m not going somewhere that rejected you.”

“Next one.” He didn’t want to spend any more time thinking about what couldn’t be.

“London?”

He snagged the envelope for London off of her pile and ripped it open. After this one, two left for both of them. Draco already knew she’d have put France at the very bottom.

“You got in!” Hermione shrieked. “Draco, they actually –”

An intense sense of relief flowed through him. London had been Draco’s safety school, sure, because he was massively over-qualified for it, but neither of them knew whether or not he would _actually_ get in because of his past.

“That’s fantastic,” he said. “But…um, Hermione?”

“Yes?”

“London rejected you.”

“London rejected me?!”

“Um, yes.”

“London can go –”

“Yes, yes, I know.”

“You can still go there, if you want.”

“Not unless I have to.”

Grimly, they both reached for the next application on the stack: Beijing. Draco experienced actual twinges of excitement when they were both accepted. Now there was a school they could go to, together, that offered top-tier programs for both of their Masteries.

“I can’t,” said Hermione, looking at Draco’s letter from France.

“No, I can’t,” said Draco. “But we have to.” Silently, they picked up the letters and tore in, Hermione shredding parchment all over the table in order to get past the stubborn wax seal.

There was a pregnant pause as they each scanned the top line of the letter.

“YOU GOT IN!” Hermione and Draco exclaimed at the same time, smiles bursting out over their faces as they embraced in a whirl of bodies and paper. After they broke away, Draco immediately seized his and savored the sentence that began, “Dear Mr. Malfoy, Congratulations! On behalf of the faculty and staff at _L’Institut d’Alchahest_ , it is with great pleasure that I inform you of your admission to Alchahest! To complete a Potions Mastery the apprentice must study a minimum of three years under an instructor, then be accepted by a Master Potioneer to complete a hands-on residency before being recognized as a Potions Master with all privileges and titles afforded.”

Draco met Hermione’s eyes. Her matching grin informed him of what their decision would be.

“ _Marseille_ , ici je viens!”

 Ƹ̴Ӂ̴Ʒ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's some biscuits and tea for your soul :)


	15. Conciliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Ron have a Conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, friends! I've been trying to write this chapter since March, when I went and (like a genius) wrote myself into a corner with 14. I had an excuse when I was in the busy part of the semester, but that kind of dried up when I graduated and still couldn't think of how to move the story forward. Go figure. But 15 is done! It's here! Yay!
> 
> Actually, this is version 2.0. Kayla, my wonderful beta, pointed out how much work the original version of 15 needed, so I rewrote a ton of it (and 16, but that's for next time ;P) but now I'm super happy with both 15 and 16, which is done and will be coming out #soon. 
> 
> *Note* Chapter 14 has been updated as of 5.26.17. If you haven't seen the new and improved version, please have a read before moving onto Chapter 15+. It's so much better, I promise! Moral of the story is still the same, but the method is a lot different, thanks to Kayla's wonderful beta-ing skills.

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** 6 Months Later **

Draco,” Harry murmured, wriggling uncomfortably. “You’re too warm. Come on, get off of me.” He attempted to shove Draco off and was met with empty air, blearily opening his eyes to immediately be blinded by brightness.

He was at the Quidditch Pitch with Ron and a few other guys from their squad; they’d been playing competitively until the urge to sleep rendered him groggy and slow. Harry had been unable to sleep properly without Draco in his bed, warming him inside and out; the warm California sun even seemed a poor substitute for his ex-boyfriend’s comforting presence.

“O’Connell, you arsehole!” hollered Ron, the Quaffle bouncing off of the back of his shoulder. “I wasn’t looking!”

Harry blinked back into the present moment, wrenching himself off the hot bench and back onto his broom. They were just screwing around now, doing drills; Harry and Ron had already smashed the others to pieces earlier, and they hadn’t quite recovered from their defeat.The Snitch twinkled far away at the other end of the Pitch, and he zoomed after it, ignoring the sleep dust that had gathered at the corner of his eyes.

Out of nowhere he was transported back in time to a memory of playing Quidditch with Draco on the Manor grounds, speeding playfully away while Draco chased him; Draco taunting him mercilessly until one of the insults pissed him off enough to retaliate, at which point Draco snatched the Snitch from thin air where it had been lurking right under his nose. He couldn’t even be upset when Draco gleefully celebrated his victory, turning wide loop-the-loops and grinning mischievously back at him. Pride and love had swelled inside his chest to the point where he was tackling Draco mid-flight, controlling their descent amid rapid “Potter, you maniac”s and “You’re going to kill us both, you stupid moron”s. The grass was soft as he laid Draco on the ground, kissing him mercilessly.

Catching the Snitch now made him feel numb; lifeless, even. Everything had gone so wrong so fast, and Harry didn’t have any clue how to make things right again. He’d freaked out when, as soon as he left for the states, Draco refused to contact him at all. He’d reacted impulsively, to be sure, by threatening to come check up on him if he didn’t write back within a certain amount of time. It had been stupid, he thought regretfully. Draco never responded well to ultimatums, and that hadn’t been the time to try and achieve a different result. They’d had a good thing going, and he put too much stress on their budding relationship too soon. Somehow, he’d thought they were more  _ established _ . He wished Draco would have  _ said  _ that Harry leaving would bother him. He’d seen apprehension and misery written all over Draco’s face in the last few days before he left and had chosen to ignore it, telling himself that it would quickly pass. Merlin, reflecting on this hurt. But the only way out was through, and if he couldn’t be self-reflective, then what business did he have trying to move forward?

Leaving a heartbroken boyfriend behind hadn’t been the worst of it. After Draco broke up with him by post, Harry stormed back to their shared flat, barging in, unwelcomed—God had it hurt that Draco already changed the locks to guarantee he’d be shut out—certain that there was a  _ reason  _ why Draco was giving up on them. Sure maybe he could have gone about it a different way, but all he felt was anger, overwhelming  _ anger  _ that almost drove out all the fear. He’d all but convinced himself that there was someone else; a lover that Draco met at school when they weren't together and had been eagerly awaiting Harry to leave so that he could be with this person. And then to see the bed ruffled and indented right next to where Draco was sleeping? It was his worst fear confirmed. He’d wanted to talk to Draco rationally, to beg him to stop being an idiot, but all capability of being logical and persuasive was forced out by the  _ anger _ , anger that Draco would betray him like this.

He was still pissed, even six months later, but Draco’s hurt and grief wasn’t something that would soon leave Harry’s memory. He’d instantly seen all of Draco’s defense mechanisms kick in after he accused him of cheating. It was a scary situation for both of them: Harry wasn’t sure he could control himself if Draco truly  _ was  _ cheating on him, but the worst part was that Draco wasn’t sure if Harry could control himself either. He’d reacted by protecting himself, curling up in a ball, uncertain if there was abuse coming. Ashamed and disgusted with himself, Harry hated to dwell on these memories. But he forced himself to think about them, forced himself to judge his own actions impartially even though it hurt like a bitch to remember the mistakes he made. The mistakes they both made. In a lot of ways, he felt like he was in the right, but clearly, so did Draco. And unless Harry could confront these demons, there would be no getting Draco back.

“Harry, mate,” Ron said, interrupting his thoughts and his rhythm of aimless laps around the Pitch. “Want to grab a bite? The guys are heading to Mculliver’s game, but I figure you’d want to bugger off, after how boring it was last time…”

It was good to have Ron back in his life, no doubt about it. Why did having one of his friends back have to come at the cost of the rest? He missed Draco and Hermione terribly, even though some days he hated them both, and had the sneaking suspicion that Ron missed Hermione too. They hadn’t talked much about Harry’s relationship with Draco. With Ron, it had always been best to let sleeping dogs lie, and this was no exception.

“Yeah, let’s go.” Harry released the Snitch and watched its golden wings flitter so fast they were only a blur, their delicacy reminding him instinctively of Draco.

They Apparated away from the Pitch, going to grab burgers and fries on the beach. It was a warm day, but the breeze refreshed Harry as they waited for their food at a table under an umbrella, sipping Cokes. “You ever miss Hermione?” Harry asked, unable to keep silent any longer.

Ron frowned. “‘Course I do.” He took another giant sip, choking as Coke went up his nose, Harry pounding him on the back. “Why do you ask?” he managed a minute later, still recovering.

“It’s been months,” Harry said. “I can’t stop thinking about Malfoy.” He knew that he was entering dangerous territory, but if Ron really wanted to prove he wasn’t a major doucher, he wouldn’t fight him on this. “Do you like, miss her all the time, or do you just remember things every so often, when there’s a certain song or food or something?”

“Definitely the last one,” Ron said, making room at the table for the waitress, who was delivering their food. The fries were salty and the burgers were juicy, so there was silence for a few minutes as they bit in, tasting everything. “You obviously want him back, so what are you going to do about it?”

Harry looked up from his plate in surprise. After how vehemently Ron had opposed them, after the terrible shit he said to Draco,  _ this  _ was a surprise. “Far cry from how you reacted last time.”

“Yeah, well.” Ron snatched a handful of fries and dunked them in his milkshake, treating Harry to a view of his half-chewed food, “It’s obvious you’re not over him. You mope all the time, when you think I’m not looking.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Doesn’t matter if I’m okay with it or not, now does it?”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

“Look, Harry,” said Ron, impatiently this time. “I can already see it written all over your face that you’re gonna try and get him back.”

“Yeah, I am.” There was no point in denying it.

“Well, alright then.”

“So, what now?”

“What’re you talking about?”

“Are you going to turn into a bloody wanker again?” Ron’s shoulders tensed, across the table. Harry took another bite of his burger, savoring Ron’s discomfort and the way he tried to play it cool.

“As long as he doesn’t try to pull a fast one on you, mate. Weren’t you sure at one point that he was cheating on you?”

Harry’s stomach clenched; as much as he didn’t want to talk about that happy moment, it sure came up enough. The waitress came over to refill their water glasses, so he contented himself with a glare, and when she finally left, he hissed, “I told you. I fucked up, remember?”

“Or did you?”

“He wasn’t cheating on me!” He hadn’t noticed that he’d escalated until people at nearby tables started looking curiously at them. With a conscious effort, Harry took a deep breath. “For fuck’s sake, Ron. If he was, then it was with  _ your  _ ex-girlfriend.”

Ron’s upper lip was curling. “Hermione would never touch someone like Malfoy.”

“Really? ‘Someone like Malfoy’?” Harry threw his napkin off his lap and onto the table, ready to leap at Ron like he had done so many months ago at Hogwarts.

Ron copied him, standing three inches taller than Harry. “Sure, they’re  _ friends  _ now, but that’s only because they can talk nerd to each other.”

“The only reason Draco isn't dating Hermione is because he’s  _ gay _ ,” Harry said. “They’re perfect for each other otherwise. That’s why they’re  _ best friends _ .”

“Hermione must feel like she needs him.” Ron shook his head. “I mean, we haven’t been around and she’s probably lonely.”

“I’m sure Hermione’s capable of taking care of herself.” Harry tossed down some Muggle money and strode away, his exit only ruined by the way the shifting sand beneath his feet.

Ron caught up to him a minute later, shoving Harry in the shoulder to stop him from walking any further. “What is it about Malfoy, anyway? You’ve always been obsessed with him, right from the beginning.”

Harry thought. It was hard to put into words. “He’s just Malfoy,” he said finally. “He’s a git, always has been. Snobby, privileged, superior. There’s no denying that.” Ron snorted in agreement. “But he’s also smart. Like, really smart. He’s driven, but he wants to help others succeed too, like Hermione and even me. He’s playful. Loving. A bit finicky, but that just makes it more fun to irritate him. And he crochets. He  _ crochets _ , Ron. He makes stuffies.”

“He almost sounds human,” Ron admitted. He moved out from in front of Harry, and they wordlessly started walking down to the coast.

“Definitely not perfect. But I love him.” The realization wasn’t any more shocking now than it had been the first time.

Ron sighed. “We can’t keep doing this.”

“We really can’t. I know you don’t like Draco, but I want him in my life. You’ll have to decide if you can live with that.” Harry sank down into the warm sand, twenty feet from the water’s edge, and Ron joined him.

“From now on, I’ve got your back.” Ron stared determinedly out at the water, and Harry turned to look at the side of his face.

“You mean it?”

“‘Course I do.” Ron turned too, extending his hand so that they could shake on it. Even though Ron’s fingers were sticky with ketchup, Harry felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

“He means so much to me.”

“Yeah, mate,” Ron said, surprisingly soft. “I know.”

They didn’t talk anymore. They didn’t have to. Instead, they found a deserted sand bucket, which they then used to make a castle, not unsimilar to a mini-Hogwarts. Harry insisted on having a moat. Ron added a drawbridge, and then, after a quick look around to make sure no Muggles were watching, conjured a tiny Snape getting his leg bit off by a crocodile. Harry smirked before adding a miniature, squat Umbridge being chased down by a black stallion, running circles around the castle in an attempt to escape. They formed Quidditch balls in the sand, Golden Snitches and Quaffles and Beaters, Harry actually stopping Ron from charming them and making them move around their poorly-constructed Pitch. When the tide started coming in and washing their creations away, Harry and Ron sat there too, right at the water’s edge, as they watched the sun set.

Ƹ̴Ӂ̴Ʒ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drop me a comment telling me how appreciative you are that I updated after almost THREE months. Leave me a kudos, and I promise not to do it again. ;)
> 
> For Chapter 16, expect dildos and dishcloths. You're welcome. XD


	16. Appreciation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco satisfies a need; Harry has a special visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends, good news! I have a new chapter for you all, right on schedule. Unfortunately, I also have a bit of bad news: my beta and I are no longer working together, which is incredibly disappointing and saddening to me both personally and in regards to this story. I wish her the best, but definitely wish things had turned out differently.
> 
> I've gone over this chapter with a fine-tooth comb, so it *should* be up to my usual standards. However, it's easier for me to write when I have someone to bounce ideas off of and the end product turns out better as well. That's why I'm issuing a CALL FOR BETAS! If you're interested in beta-reading and want to have a go, now's your chance! Send me an email at diana.braum@gmail.com if you're interested. I would appreciate any and all help!

 

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“Draco, wake up! For God’s sake, Draco, wake up already!”

Blearily, he eased into consciousness, blinking confusedly at Hermione’s crumpled pajamas and mussed hair. “I was sleeping, you know,” he said irritably. 

She yanked the covers back, causing him to instantly cover his aching erection. They’d spent the last six months sleeping in the same bed together, but that didn’t mean Draco was comfortable with his parts being subjected to Hermione’s scrutinizing glare. 

“Really?” said Hermione sarcastically. “I never would have guessed, what with the way you were practically humping me in your sleep!”

“Excuse me? I would never hump you. I didn’t even like kissing you that time!”

“Well, you obviously didn’t think it was me. You were calling out, ‘Harry, oh Harry, please, just like that…’ every time you pressed your –”

“I did NOT say or do that!”

“You actually did.”

“That’s simply not possible.”

“It’s very possible, actually. Considering that it happened. In fact, I got quite a good sense of how hung you are –”

“I am done with this conversation,” Draco cried, abandoning his efforts to hide his crotch as he threw his legs over the side of the bed.

“Yes, please go take care of it already,” said Hermione. “It’s not like you have to hide it, Draco; after all, I do it too–”

Draco halted and turned around to face her. “Please stop talking,” he said. “If I think about you doing that, I’m never going to be able to get off.”

“By all means, please get off,” said Hermione, gesturing pointedly at his crotch. 

Groaning, Draco shook his head and stormed out of the room. 

“And hurry up,” she shouted after him. “We’ve still got two hours to sleep before morning classes, and I want to maximize that time without you shuffling around and waking me up!” He closed the bathroom door without another word, casting a Muffliato to keep any sounds from disturbing Hermione. And to, you know, protect his dignity. 

Unpleasant images were still threatening flaccidity. Draco took some deep breaths, lying down in the bathtub and pushing those visions aside as he immersed himself in the private fantasy-land that was Harry Potter. Before they’d dated, Draco had played out every possible scenario in his head, hundreds of time. It was okay back then because he was only imagining how it might feel. Now when Draco went to Potter-town, he was remembering exactly how it would feel. It was enough to have Draco wondering–for about the two millionth time–if he should have just sucked it up and went to school in London. 

You’re an idiot, Draco told himself. No sane, reasonable person stayed with someone just because they were having good sex. That was a terrible basis for a relationship. With difficulty, he pushed the anxious thoughts out of his mind and forced himself to think about Harry. About the way his arse looked in the dark jeans Draco’d insisted he buy, about his soft smiles after a Seeker’s Game where they both worked to crush each other, about that noise he made every time he sank into Draco… oh, yes. There it was. He unzipped his pants and stroked himself gently, picturing the way Harry would tease him with little tongue flips over all the sensitive spots, licking at the veins on the underside of his cock even as his fingers found Draco’s rim and pushed inside. Ahhh… Harry’s fingers were thick, and warm, and they always rubbed up against his prostate perfectly… 

Draco slipped out of his pants entirely and conjured lube, spreading it on his fingers before pushing two into himself and wincing slightly at the burn. He stroked his cock faster to offset the pain, sighing as he found the spots that pleasured him the most. If only his wrist wasn’t hurting from being bent at such an awkward angle. Riding something would feel better. After lubing up a third finger and slipping it inside, Draco stretched himself to the point where he thought he could take something bigger. After an agonizingly long time, Draco finally Accioed his new dildo, the sparkly pink one he’d snuck past Hermione when they were at the store the other day. This was definitely a tighter fit, even with copious amounts of lube, seeing as Draco hadn’t properly taken anything bigger than fingers in months.

The dildo had a suction cup, so Draco stuck it to the bottom of the tub and propped himself up on his toes, slowly taking it in, bit by bit. The burn worsened, so he fucked into his hand a little rougher than before, thinking desperately of riding Harry in the mornings before school and then sometimes again before they went to bed. Harry’d always grasped his hips, leaving finger-shaped bruises on his pale skin that he would see whenever he washed or changed clothes. Sometimes, if they were more passionate than usual, when Draco sat or shifted or even bumped into something, he could feel the marks ache as a memory of their time together. His one free hand against his hip simply wasn’t cutting it. Even as the dildo he was riding brushed up against his prostate in the same manner that Harry’d always been so good at achieving, it still didn’t give him anywhere near the same amount of pleasure he’d been so used to receiving. But his memories of their time together were powerful, and it wasn’t long before Draco had to bite back a scream. 

He grasped the head of his cock and twisted, adding the little wrist flip that sent him over the edge every time, thrusting eagerly on the dildo. His climax was intense, probably as potent as it’d been when Harry took him over the edge. Draco’s head tipped back as he gasped, savoring the intense sensations flooding his body. It felt nice, but Draco hated the lack of emotional intimacy that came from masturbating. His lust, his desire was just that; a need, like any other need. Like the need to brush his teeth or the need to eat or the need to take a morning piss; just another means to an end. It was all about the destination, not the journey.

Grumbling, Draco reached behind himself and slowly extracted the dildo, cleaning it so that there wouldn’t be any surprises next time. Because surely there would be a next time. He quickly scrubbed come and lube out of the tub, rinsing everything off before cleaning himself up. Might as well shower anyway, since there wasn’t much point in walking around feeling all slimy from the lube. 

He’d been in the bathroom for a while, but Hermione didn’t seem surprised to see Draco crawling back into bed, hair wrapped in a towel.

“How’d it go?” she murmured. 

“Fine.” He reddened as he remembered what he’d initially gone in there for. Really, could she be any more insufferable at times?

“Did you try out the sparkly pink one?”

That was a yes. His cheeks colored even more as he hastily drew back the covers and slid in, facing away from that nosy bint. “How do you even know I have a sparkly pink one?” Draco demanded, wrenching the covers up to his chin.

“I was with you when you bought it, no matter how sneaky you might have thought you were being.”

He vowed, from that moment on, to only buy sex toys through Owl post.

“Draco, you do know it’s okay to talk about these things, right? You always get so flustered every time something like this comes up…”

“Hermione, STOP TALKING.”

Draco gave up on getting back to sleep and tuned out Hermione as she talked about how fundamentally inaccurate sex was portrayed in women’s magazines while he pulled on his robe and slippers. He went back into the bathroom to dry and style his hair, droning Hermione out with the hairdryer, before sitting himself down on the couch with a skein of yarn and his favorite hook. Red today. For passion and for love. For everything he wanted to do with Harry, and to Harry, and for Harry… Draco would add a white border to the dishcloth, too. For the new beginning he wished they could have. 

For the past month, he’d been playing around with the idea of contacting Harry. Just to see how he was. If he was happy. If the Aurors were everything he thought they’d be and more. Who was he kidding? Last time they corresponded, Draco hadn’t even been able to write a response, much less compose an entirely new letter completely out of the blue. Why did this have to be so hard? But then again, he didn’t need words, now did he? Draco looked down into his lap at the yarn and smiled, knowing exactly what he would send. 

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Harry groaned. Fifteen hours later–twelve spent on the stakeout, two on apprehending and detaining the suspects, and then one on paperwork–he was ready to fall into bed, even covered in sweat, dirt, grime. He unlocked the door to his apartment, fumbling with the keys, and let himself in, throwing his stuff on the floor after making a vague promise to himself to deal with it later. 

He made it into the kitchen and scarfed down half a bowl of soup before he noticed the owl waiting patiently on the counter for him. Curious, Harry approached it. Surely it wasn’t some kind of assassination attempt, considering that the owl was unharmed after passing through his wards? Only the owls of his closest friends knew how to do so safely. 

The owl chirped, letting Harry untie the package from its leg and scratch its head fondly. The package was small, without any writing or indication of what it was, so Harry quickly set it down on the countertop and went to rummage up a few treats. Really, the owl was too cute.

As it happily pecked away at the food, Harry unwrapped the package. A soft, red cloth fell out, wrapped neatly with a red ribbon, and his stomach leapt up into his throat. Was this what he thought it was? With trembling fingers, Harry untied the red ribbon and unfolded the crocheted material; it was a lovely red dishcloth with a crisp white border. 

He couldn’t control the tears that sprang to his eyes and rolled down his cheeks as he remembered how seriously Draco took his crocheting and the way he loved his final products. Harry held the dishcloth to his heart, savoring the effort and feelings Draco had put into making it. He didn’t know what the stitching was called–only vaguely did Harry remember something about _single_ and _double_ crochet–but after not hearing from Draco for half a year, this little dishcloth meant the world to him. It was proof that he was still in Draco’s thoughts, whatever form that might take. But Harry knew that even though Draco wasn't religious, he put a lot of stock in symbolism and meaning. This was a red dishcloth. It wasn’t red and gold, like the last one Draco had sent to honor Harry’s Gryffindor identity; it was red and white. Like a Valentine. Like something you sent to somebody you loved. 

After carefully folding the dishcloth up and tucking it neatly in his pocket, Harry gave the owl one last pat and went to bed, where he fell asleep with a hopeful longing in his chest that Draco wanted _them_ again just as much as he did.  

He woke up the next morning much earlier than usual, Draco’s owl softly hooting from where it had snuck onto his windowsill sometime during the night.

“Why are you still here?” Harry asked, still sleepy. 

The owl hooted back, cocking its head determinedly. Owls that were directed to wait for a response usually enticed–either by vicious pecking or gentle nagging–the recipient to get on with it sooner rather than later. By its behavior, Harry could see that Draco hadn’t instructed the owl to prompt him for a reply. But it was still here anyway. Was it reluctant to make the long journey back to France?

“Let’s find you some more food.” Stepping out of bed, Harry shivered as he snagged his robe off of the hook and padded out to the kitchen. After a look into the owl’s bowl and seeing that it was still full from last night, he frowned. “What do you want, then? I know Draco treats you well. Go on, get home.”

Cooing softly, the owl flew from the perch to Harry’s shoulder, nuzzling into the side of his neck. “What an affectionate bird,” he mused, stroking the owl gently. It eased into his touch, and they stood there together in the dull morning light. All at once, something occurred to Harry. 

“The dishcloth wasn’t the only thing Draco asked you to give me, was it?” The owl hooted, as if amused. “Knowing Draco, Gods, he’d ask you to give me his love. Is that it?”

The owl chattered excitedly, and Harry knew he’d gotten it right. “Draco,” he breathed.

Taking advantage a distracted Harry, the owl hooted impatiently and flew off towards the window, clearly intent on leaving now that its mission had been fulfilled. 

“Wait!” Harry ran to the window and shut it before the bird could leave. “Please -- you’ll take something back to him for me, right?”

It chirped in a way that he could only interpret as _yes_.

“I just need some time to get it ready.” What could he possibly send to Draco that would have the same amount of meaning as the dishcloth so lovingly delivered to him? And then it came to him. Brimming with determination, Harry turned back to the owl. 

“Actually, I might need the rest of the day. At least.” The owl gave him an inscrutable expression that was uncannily similar to Draco’s, but it consented to fly back over to the perch and hoot for more treats.

“Right,” said Harry, once that had been taken care of. “I need to go to the store. And I need YouTube. Lots and lots of YouTube.” He took a shower and hurried through a quick breakfast, resolving to let the girls down at the office know sooner rather than later that he would not be coming in today. In the end, he forgot, and it was half-ten by the time they sent someone out to collect him from his apartment. Harry thrust a crumbly piece of treacle tart into their hands and ushered them out the door, determined not to be bothered. Americans really had no sense of work-life balance, did they, with the way they were hounding him all the bloody time. No matter. It was written into his contract that he could have vacation days, and by God, he was going to actually take one. 

By the time he was finished with Draco’s present, the better part of the day was over, and Harry’s fingers were cramping. There was definitely going to be muscle pain there tomorrow. But no matter. It might not be the prettiest thing ever, but dammit, Harry’s love and affection was on display through his efforts. Hopefully. And if Draco didn’t appreciate it, well, at least he’d tried.

After neatly wrapping the present up, Harry attached it to Draco’s owl, which gave him an approving sort of hoot before it took flight. He watched it soar through the cool night, comforted by there being time and space between them so that he wouldn’t have to worry about a potential reply anytime soon. 

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When Abalona returned, three days later, Draco was surprised to see a small package attached to her leg.

“What have you got there, Abby?” Draco murmured, petting his owl’s head. She’d been a graduation gift from Hermione, a surprisingly sweet and mild-tempered pet. 

Abby chirruped, and Draco smiled. If there was something unsavory in the package, she’d have acted differently; Draco explicitly told her to watch Harry like a hawk.

He untied the parcel after refreshing Abby’s water dish, ripping through the stiff paper protecting the contents. Something green and crocheted fell into Draco’s hands, and his first thought was that, somehow, he’d gotten one of his own products back. But this dishcloth was green, not red, and it wasn’t anywhere near Draco’s quality of artisanship. Had Harry made this? 

He unfurled it, examining the workmanship. The cloth was triangle-shaped; he guessed Harry had been going for a square, like he usually did, but had consistently forgotten to work into the last stitch of each row so that the number of stitches slowly decreased until it formed a rounded point. It had been done in single crochet, which was a very attractive stitch even if it was simple, and the tension was uneven, as the stitches at the base of the triangle were looser than the ones at the top. If his own experience was anything to go by, Harry had become more confident the farther along he got in his project. Draco laid the cloth on the table, but it didn’t lay flat. Certain parts were bunched up and others curled underneath themselves. Overall, it was a very unattractive final product, even though he did quite like the green.

But Harry had made it for him. For _him_. Even though he didn’t like crocheting, and didn’t know how. He would have had to teach himself how to make this. Draco vividly remembered the number of hours he spent on his first projects, messing up more than not until finally muscle memory clicked into place and everything got easier. That had taken a while, though. Harry had done this in a very short timespan. He must have worked all day simply to make this for Draco. 

As Draco picked up the triangle dishcloth, he found himself overwhelmed with appreciation, pride, and love for the man he’d constantly missed for the last six months. An ache burrowed into Draco’s heart, the need to have Harry, to hold him, to thank him. He still hurt from what had already been said and done, but what was life without forgiveness? It had to be possible to move on, to heal old wounds and strengthen bonds even when they’d been torn to pieces. It could be done because Draco wanted it to be. And it looked like Harry did too.

He carefully placed the triangle on the sparkling kitchen counter, next to his tea kettle, and placed his favorite tea cup upon it. With fresh stack of parchment and Hermione’s most-prized quill, Draco sat down at the table to begin drafting a letter to Harry. 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Every bit of positive feedback from you all only increases my motivation to write more and write better, so if you like this story so far please leave a comment or a kudos! It's definitely been hard to move forward after losing my beta, so I would appreciate some extra love. <3 
> 
> Again, if you're interested in beta-reading for me, shoot me a quick email at diana.braum@gmail.com.


	17. Coordination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco takes a risk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to WhovianMaiPotter and Dinkydog for stepping up to be my new betas! You're both lovely and I appreciate you so much :)
> 
> Hope you all enjoy this update!

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Draco looked down at the parchment in his hands, feeling his stomach clench with excitement at the thought of reading Harry’s latest letter. He sat down on his and Hermione’s couch and held it, simply comforted by the thought that there were words in the letter written by Harry. Words written to him. _For_ him. Draco could almost have almost gone to sleep without reading the letter until morning, reassured that his and Harry’s relationship was tangible. Key word, _almost_. In the end, the curiosity got the best of Draco and so he ripped it open, allowing his eyes to furiously scan the page.

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_Dear Draco,_

_Hope you're well and that school isn’t getting you down. I know you live for academia, but it sounds like you’re under a lot of pressure. Put down your books, make Hermione put down hers, and then go do something fun over the weekend. Everything will still be there when you get back._

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Draco sniffed. Put down his books?! Then he might risk that annoyingly brunette— _Susan_ —pushing him out of the top spot in their class. But then again, he had been kind of tetchy lately. Even Hermione had been telling him it was good to take breaks (the hypocrite, seeing as _she_ was always studying when Draco came into her room), so maybe he had been acting a little more obsessively than normal. Draco decided to take the suggestion into consideration and continued reading. 

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_But I did want to ask, how is the research on the memory potions going? From what you described, that field of study sounds just like what you’d be interested in. I’m not going to lie; it’s over my head, but I’m sure that if anyone can make sense if it, it’s you, and I really think you should pursue it. Especially if you can happily stay up half the night reading about it (seriously, though, Draco, please sleep)._

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Draco couldn’t help lighting up at this. He was specializing in Physiology, but even that had subfields. One of his classes was specifically designed to cover those different subfields in detail, with each unit lasting about two weeks. They were covering Memory Potionry now, which Draco’d taken an instant interest in. The professor had mentioned a couple of the top research journals for that field, and Draco’d eagerly read the most recent issue from each one. There was research being done he’d never even dreamed of. He was touched Harry thought to ask about it, especially after he’d tried to downplay his excitement in his last letter. 

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_Everything is going well with work. My first evaluation was on Wednesday, and they said that if I keep improving I might be able to advance to the second ranking of Junior Auror by the end of December. That’s about six months sooner than normal, so I’m really stoked. And guess what? I learned how to do the double crochet stitch this past weekend. It’s really not that hard. Seems handy, but I don’t really like the way it looks. I’ll send you some new scrubbies once I get the tension down._

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Pride blossomed throughout Draco, warming his cold extremities. It made him happy when Harry succeeded, especially when he knew the different struggles Harry faced in the workplace. He was also delighted that Harry’d taken up crocheting to get closer to him—it had never been explicitly said, but Draco knew it anyway—and was grateful to that they were able to bond over a shared interest. 

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_Can’t wait to hear what you’ve been up to._

 

_Love,_

_Harry_

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Draco put the letter down, too keyed up to even think about sleeping. He was trembling with excitement, with the need to write back to Harry _right away_. Instead of running over and picking up a quill, however, Draco took a deep breath. He folded the letter carefully and placed it on the table, getting up to turn on the tea kettle. His tired ramblings were challenging to understand at best and incoherent at worst, and things had been good with Harry recently. He didn’t want to fuck anything up. Besides; Draco preferred to give all correspondence a second read-through before responding to ensure that he didn’t miss anything. 

After lacing up his running shoes, Draco shrugged on a thin jacket and a pair of trackpants before slipping out into the night. He walked the first mile, reflecting on the development of his relationship with Harry. There’d been heartbreaking nothingness until Draco finally mustered up the courage to reach out to Harry by sending the dishcloth. Since he’d received the green triangle—that was lumpy but had been crafted with love—they’d gradually started corresponding, Harry sending the first message in an attempt to cautiously test the waters. It seemed like ages since Draco’d received that initial note; they’d been exchanging letters for a couple of months now, limiting each other to one response per week because of their busy schedules. Harry wrote a letter to Draco on Thursday, which was delivered on Saturday (in this case, late Friday night), and then Draco would spend the weekend thinking about what he wanted to include in his own letter, which he would write on Monday (to be delivered by Wednesday). 

The first mile went quickly; even though Draco wanted to wait until he was properly warmed up to start jogging, he needed an outlet for all the compressed energy brimming within. The truth was, Draco treasured their exchange. He loved telling Harry about his week and hearing about Harry’s in return. Sometimes they veered away from events and talked about everything from movies to the meaning of life. It was refreshing, because Harry had such a different perspective than Draco did. He was also fun to debate, as—gasp—he _was_ capable of making sensible arguments and didn’t give up easily, if at all. Draco learned this the hard way after one day when he started in on the orientation of the toilet paper roll, griping about how Hermione always put it so that it was hanging over instead of under. He hadn’t expected Harry to also be devoutly committed to hanging the toilet paper over—“That way, you don’t accidentally hit the walls with your knuckles, Draco”—and they’d had a furious back-and-forth on the issue with neither admitting defeat. Now every time Draco looked at the toilet paper roll in his and Hermione’s shared bathroom, he thought of Harry. 

The one thing they didn’t talk about in their letters was their relationship. Draco didn’t know if they were friends or lovers, but he did know that he loved Harry. He suspected—hoped—that Harry loved him too, though it was never confirmed on either side. Neither one of them wanted to veer into dangerous territory again, especially because their initial problems weren’t anywhere close to being resolved. Harry was still working with the American Aurors, and Draco was still going to school in France. He had just over two and a half years left on his program. Even if they officially got back together, nothing about their living situation would change. 

And for that reason it was better to stay in this liminal state of not-quite-friends and not-quite-lovers, because at least Draco could _talk_ to Harry in the same way he’d been able to before. They could share experiences and support one another, but without the physicality that both of them valued and needed from a romantic relationship. Draco had the sneaking suspicion that if they did decide to get together again, he would never be satisfied by the long distance component of their relationship. Communicating by letters as more-than-friends was good enough for Draco (for now). 

But when he curled up in bed after his run, sweaty and exhausted, Draco couldn’t take his mind off of seeing Harry again. Even if they weren’t _together_ physically, it would just be enough to _be_ with Harry; to exist in the same space, reveling in each other’s mere presence. That didn’t take Draco’s mind off of the warmth of Harry’s touch, but just being near Harry would be enough to still the constant whirring in his brain. 

He slept fitfully that night, waking Hermione up a half-dozen times with his constant tossing and turning, until finally she kicked him out of bed at half-five and told him to go sleep on the couch. Instead, Draco paced back and forth in the living room. A horrible, terrible, no good idea had taken root in his brain and it wasn’t going away no matter how he tried to get rid of it. Because that’s what it was, crazy talk. Surely nothing good could come of it, of asking Harry to visit him in France? Hadn’t he thrown Harry out of their flat in London? Hadn’t he broken up with Harry by letter, threatened to burn anything he left in their home? But that was water under the bridge now. Harry forgave him; they’d both apologized for everything in some of their earliest letters.

It was risky to be sure, but what was life without taking chances? Draco had always calculated his every last move, whether he was at home or in school, but maybe sometimes certain situations required a leap of faith. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. His thoughts were interrupted as he rammed into the edge of the glass table that was taking up practically half of their living room, bruising his shin in the process. 

“Fuck,” Draco growled, resisting the urge to chuck it across the room. A raised red welt had already formed on his skin. He bruised easily, so of course he’d have had to hit it hard.

While he was rummaging around in the freezer, looking for an ice pack (no, he was _not_ undignified enough to use a bag of frozen peas) a light flipped on above his head. Draco spun around, clutching a container of frozen cranberry juice. Hermione met his eyes, wearing a scowl and her ratty old dressing gown.

“Just what _is_ going on out here? Draco, it’s six in the morning. On a _Saturday_ , might I add.”

“Ask that bloody table.” Giving up on finding the elusive ice pack, Draco resigned himself to the bag of frozen peas and sat down at the kitchen table, icing his bruise.

“I seem to recall someone being quite fond of that table just the other day, given how well it ‘matched the color scheme of the room’.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” The ice was unpleasantly cool against his skin.

Hermione sat across from him, rubbing her temples. “The sooner you tell me why you’re out here stumping around at stupid o’clock, the sooner we can go back to sleep.”

Sighing, Draco placed a dishcloth underneath the peas to make them more comfortable against his shin. “You just never give up, do you? Alright, fine.” He could have drawn it out, but there didn’t seem to be much point, considering that he’d already been over all the possible outcomes in his own mind. “I want to see Harry.”

Hermione pointed her wand at the tea kettle and turning it on before turning her attention back to Draco. “Are you quite sure that’s the best idea?”

“Of course it’s not,” Draco said impatiently. “I already know that. But we’ve been talking for months now. I just want to be his friend.”

“I’m not sure I believe you,” Hermione snorted.

“I don’t believe me either,” Draco admitted. 

“You never wanted to break up with him in the first place, how are you going to handle him here, tempting you?”

“Wait, didn’t we miss the part of the conversation where you try to convince me that this is a bad idea, that he’s not going to come out even if I asked, that I’m setting myself up for disaster?”

“I would, but it’s a waste of energy,” said Hermione, shrugging. “You’ve already made up your mind. You want this. The only thing left to do is decide how you’re going to proceed. Imagine that you ask him to come out here, and he says yes—he _will_ say yes, Draco, don’t give me that look—so what then? Is he going to stay with us? How long is he going to stay?”

Somehow, despite his early morning musings, these were concerns that hadn’t come up. 

“Er—” said Draco.

“You have to think this through,” said Hermione. The kettle whistled and she got up to retrieve it, pouring them steaming cups of water. “Black or herbal?”

“Definitely herbal. The blueberry, not the peach.”

Teabags added, Hermione brought the tea cups back over to the table and set one in front of Draco. “You’re not going to sleep with him, are you?”

Draco choked, spilling tea over the edge of his cup. “Bloody hell, Hermione,” he sputtered. 

“Well, that’s definitely something you should decide in advance. So are you going to, or not?”

He sat silently, contemplating his answer. Of course he _wanted_ to sleep with Harry, but that wouldn’t be a smart move in regards to their current situation. Like he’d already told himself, nothing would change. What Draco wanted in the moment would only hurt him later, once he and Harry were separated again. If he was having an internal struggle about it _now_ , he could only imagine how the decision would affect him _then_.

“I’m not going to sleep with him,” Draco said, resigned. “He probably shouldn’t stay with us, and if he’s here for more than a week then it’s going to feel too permanent.”

“There you go,” said Hermione, sipping her tea. “Now you’re using your brain.” She went to say something else, but stopped herself.

“I swear to Merlin, if you say ‘instead of your dick’ I just might have to wake you up at the crack of dawn tomorrow morning too.”

“Then I might have to hex you,” Hermione retorted. “So write to him. Ask him to come out here—only after you give him the stipulations—and then we can _finally_ get some sleep.” 

“Wait,” Draco said. “Are you going to be comfortable with Harry coming out here?”

“We’ve exchanged a few letters over the past couple months; things more or less went back to normal after he apologized to you for being such a prat.”

“So that’s a yes?”

“Yes. I’d like to see him, though probably not as badly as you do.”

Hermione waited patiently as Draco went to find parchment and a quill (he was forced to leave her favorite safely in the drawer) and sat back down, lost in thought about how he was going to propose the visit. This went on for some time. 

“It’s already half-six,” Hermione said, finally interrupting his endless train of thought. “You have five minutes and then you get to proofread it yourself.”

Scrambling for the parchment, Draco started writing.

εїз Ƹ̴Ӂ̴Ʒ εїз

_Dear Harry,_

_I’ll respond to your letter in more detail later, but I was thinking that it might be nice if you came out for a holiday in France, you uncultured swine. Hermione and I will have time off once our semester ends, and you did say that you wanted to use up your allotted vacation time. Maybe a week-long trip would work well? Marseille will quite grow on you, even in that short amount of time. You’ll especially adore the pastis (a popular drink that tastes like licorice). I can think of about a million other things you’ll have to try. Our flat is small, so it would probably be best for you to stay in a hotel or bed and breakfast. I’m excited to see you, but I want to be clear that I’m not asking you to come out here just so we can get back together. We’re friends; we can have fun together without the added emotional baggage. Hopefully this all sounds agreeable to you. I eagerly await your reply._

 

_DM_

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He finished writing and shoved the note over to Hermione, who quickly skimmed it.

“You seriously used the phrase ‘emotional baggage’?” She rolled her eyes.

Draco snatched it back. “Should I change it?”

“It sounds fine,” Hermione said. “He’s not going to care about that, I promise.”

Indecisive, Draco fiddled with the quill and accidentally snapped it in half.

“And _that_ is exactly why you’re not allowed to use my favorite quill!”

He ignored her, chucking it in the bin before finding Abalona and tying the letter on to her leg. “Can you do a speedy delivery today, girl?” 

She chirruped reassuringly, and Draco felt heartened as she took off through the open window, moving closer to Harry in every passing second. 

With that, Hermione dragged him back to bed—without letting him finish his tea—so he couldn’t disturb her anymore, and even though Draco still didn’t think he could possibly doze off, they ended up sleeping in until early afternoon. 

He listened to Harry’s and Hermione’s suggestions to lay off the work once he woke up later, listening to Hermione pattering around the house as he started crocheting a new afghan and watched the neighbor’s cat evade Crookshanks. Draco hadn’t expected a response until Sunday at the earliest, but when Abalona returned that evening, slightly rumpled but in otherwise good condition, his stomach dropped. 

“I’ll get her some food and water,” Hermione said, bustling off to the kitchen. 

With shaking hands, Draco untied the response and unfurled it, heart pounding wildly.

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_Draco,_

_There’s part of me that wishes you_ were _asking me to visit so that we could get back together. I suppose you’ve already thought about that and have come to the conclusion, as have I, that there’s no real way we can be together while our lives are still in separate places. That being said, yes, I would love to see you too and spend time together as friends. As you’ve pointed out, I’m a philistine in desperate need of culture. Just let me know which days you’re thinking and I’ll arrange to have them off._

 

_It’s a lot to ask, but would you and Hermione mind if Ron tags along? He’s never been to France either and—I’m sure you agree—could also use some culturing._

 

_Love,_

_Harry_

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Draco was so excited by the fact that Harry said _yes_ that he almost didn’t notice the little note there at the bottom of the letter. The Weasel wanted to come to France too? That was definitely a wrinkle in the plans, especially if he went and made things more awkward than they were already going to be.

Before he could call her over, Hermione was behind him, reading the letter over his shoulder. “That’s unfortunate,” she said, frowning. “But we’ve got to face him sometime, haven’t we?”

“If I say no to the Weasel,” said Draco, “That would set a poor tone for the whole visit, wouldn’t it?” Her sympathetic grimace was answer enough. He sighed. “Fine, I’ll say yes, but Merlin only knows how upset I’m going to be if the Weasel ruins everything by trying to keep Harry away from me the whole time.”

Hermione patted his back. “Don’t worry,” she said brightly. “Harry wants to see you just as much as you want to see him. And if Ron tries to pull something, he’s going to be less than pleased. I don’t think you have anything to worry about. But me, on the other hand…” she trailed off. “You know I’ve been sending Ron’s letters back unopened, that I haven’t spoken to him since we broke up. I can only imagine what he’ll say.”

“If he tries anything, he’ll find more than vegetables and herbs in his ratatouille.”

“You’re a good friend, Draco.”

He didn’t even have to think before he responded, “You too, Hermione.”

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, if you enjoyed this chapter, please leave me a comment and/or a kudos! :)


	18. Salutations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione helps Draco prepare for Harry and Ron's upcoming visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! It's been a long time. A very long time. A little over three and a half months....and didn't I say I wouldn't let it go that long again? *sigh* To be completely honest, writers block killed me. I sat down to write this chapter more than once, but every time, I would only type maybe fifty to a hundred words before I just had to put it down again. Finally, I was able to create something that I'm really happy with. I just finished writing and am posting the chapter right away (though I'm very hopeful that my betas will proofread for me, and then I'll make any edits later) because, for one, I really want to share it because y'all have been waiting long enough, and for two, I need a little reward because it was insanely difficult to mold this into something worthy of being posted. :)
> 
> So please don't be too mad at me for taking so long to update and enjoy the chapter!

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Hermione loved Draco to death, but was ultimately _very_ relieved that Harry and Ron were arriving later that day. He’d been an absolute menace to live with for the past few weeks, what with the way he’d been nervously twitching and crocheting unpteenth dishclothes in his spare time. There were now two trunks full of his creations, one in the living room and the other in their bedroom. And when he wasn’t crocheting, Draco was scrubbing down every surface in the flat by hand, claiming it gave him an outlet for all his nervous energy. But Merlin, wouldn’t _she_ do anything to get rid of this nervous, scared creature. Sometimes it was hard to remember that Malfoy could be sensitive. It did neither of them any favors when she forgot.

“Want to go have brunch?” Hermione suggested. 

Draco didn’t even bother to look at her; he just kept on scrubbing the floor on his hands and knees; scrubbing like he had personally been commissioned to remove every speck of dirt from the floor. 

“How about a mimosa?”

Silence. And this was the man that insisted cranberry-orange mimosas were the only way to a perfect morning.

“We could catch a quick film? Plenty of time before they Portkey in.”

If Hermione hadn’t been an expert at reading Draco, she wouldn’t have noticed how he started scrubbing ever-so-slightly faster and harder. His knuckles were white with how tightly they gripped the scrub brush. 

She sighed and left the kitchen, heading down to their shared bedroom to tidy up before Draco finished the floor. His anxiety was such that it wouldn’t let him rest unless everything in the house  _ felt  _ right. Hermione expected to have to make Draco stop cleaning and take a shower before Harry got here, because Merlin only knew he wasn’t going to stop working on his own. 

The entire flat had been gone over yesterday; Hermione humored Draco by coming up with an incredibly detailed, specific list of chores to do. And then they had done them. It’d taken the better part of the day, but it was all worth it when she’d seen the pleased, proud look on Draco’s face. At least, it was worth it until this morning when Draco decided everything needed done  _ again _ . 

Hermione changed the bedding, folding the sheets with sharp, crisp corners just the way Draco liked them. She put on the navy blue bedspread, the one Draco preferred when he was sad or stressed out. And then she lit a candle with a supposedly-calming scent, because Merlin knew Draco needed it. To be fair, she probably did too. Because she’d also put out a dish of Ron’s favorite caramels, hung towels Ron had once complimented in their former shared bathroom, and moved the armchair that Ron always favored out to the living room (after protecting it from Draco’s repeated attempts at Vanishing it. That was the one battle he’d lost).

They’d been broken up for a long time now, but Hermione still couldn’t shake the urge to make gestures that would please Ron. She had to remind herself that no, the sheets in the bedroom weren’t being changed because she was planning to sleep with Ron, even though she was a grown-arse woman who could have sex with no strings attached, thank you very much. It wasn’t a good idea to sleep with Ron. The sex had been fantastic, but Ron had been a complete and utter douchebag when it came to what Hermione wanted or needed. He’d also initially refused to accept Draco or to respect Harry’s choices. She hadn’t forgotten. He didn’t deserve her body, even if she was attracted to him. 

Maybe seeing Ron and possibly rekindling a friendship—not a sexual relationship, but a solid friendship—would give her the closure she needed to move on. Draco had offered to go out to the clubs and help Hermione pull, but she’d refused each time he’d asked. It hadn’t felt right yet, the idea of being with someone else intimately. 

She was pulled out of her musings by Draco shouting from the kitchen, “Can you bring the fresh Lysol from under the sink?” There was definitely a slight undertone of panic to his voice. For that reason, and that reason alone, Hermione retrieved the Lysol quickly and wandered back out to the kitchen. She was greeted with a strong, lemony scent and an enormous neon yellow puddle in the middle of the floor, which Draco was frantically trying to wipe up. 

“What  _ are  _ you doing?” asked Hermione. She shook her head. “I don’t even want to know. Come on, let’s clean this up…” Taking a tattered cloth from the top of Draco’s clean pile, Hermione sank down to her knees and used the rag to soak up as much Lysol as she could before squeezing it out into Draco’s dirty bucket. 

They sat there for the next fifteen minutes soaking and squeezing Lysol until the floor was more or less back to how it’d been before. 

“It needs done again,” Draco said, standing up on creaky knees to dump the bucket into the sink. His pants were stained from the bleach he’d used to clean the toilets earlier, but it didn’t look like he’d noticed yet. White specks dotted his knees, stretching around to cover his calves, and Hermione couldn’t stop the swell of fondness that rose up inside her at the sight. Draco was an odd, anxious man, but he was also incredibly devoted and surprisingly kind. She didn’t have to wonder whether or not it would have made a difference if Draco was their friend back at Hogwarts—of course things would have been different—because events transpired this way for a reason. They were meant to be friends now just as sure as she and Ron weren’t meant to be lovers. Luck and ease of convenience had brought them together, arguments had pushed them apart, but maybe fate could bring them back to some kind of middle ground. 

Hermione reached for the new bottle of Lysol and broke open the seal. “Okay,” she said simply. There was nothing else for it. 

From across the room, Draco looked at her, gratitude etched into his face. He walked over and laid a red, raw hand on Hermione’s shoulder. Nothing was said, and it didn’t need to be. 

They worked together to scrub the floor again—Hermione made sure to monitor the amount of Lysol that went into the bucket; she had no interest in drying out her hands with chemical cleaning supplies—and Draco consented to leaving the walls and the cabinets alone so long as they scoured the countertops. After another grueling hour of labor, the house was sparkling; the cleaning supplies neatly returned to their homes under the kitchen sink. To Hermione, the house had been sparkling yesterday, but in this situation, it was Draco’s opinion that carried the most weight. After all, he’d be the one to pitch a Mr. Clean sponge at the wall and loudly declare everything needed done over again. And, finally, he seemed to be content. Not enthusiastic, per se, but content. 

“You should shower,” Hermione said wearily. Pent up anxiety would prevent her from napping before Harry and Ron arrived, but there would definitely be time for a soothing cup of tea and some rest—the tried and true practices of professional housewives and househusbands had nothing on Draco’s cleaning routine. 

Draco was wringing his hands as though wishing his rubber gloves were still there. “Do you think I have time?”

“Honestly, Draco, you smell like that foul mold we found under the bathroom sink.”

Almost comically, his eyes widened and his nose pointed in disgust. Draco  _ had _ been horrified by that discovery. He edged for the doorway, seemingly to notice, for the first time, the bleach-speckles lining his trousers. “Just a quick one, then.” 

Hermione waited until Draco had closed the bathroom door before turning on the kettle and rummaging around in the cupboard for her favorite honeybush herbal tea. She had just gotten out the cracked Gryffindor mug Draco despised when, out of nowhere, the shower shut off and Draco called, “I’m ready for that mimosa now!”

Several thoughts went through her head,  _ do it yourself, you stubborn arsehole _ taking priority over all the rest. Instead, after selecting a delicate white cup from the cupboard, pouring in the hot water, and setting her tea to steep, Hermione snatched the Draco’s pre-made cranberry-orange juice out of the refrigerator and dumped it into the Gryffindor mug. Pouring in a generous serving of champagne, she brought the drink into the bathroom, where Draco was standing behind the translucent shower curtain as if waiting on a house-elf. 

“I’m not sure whether to call you Princess or Prick,” Hermione said. 

Draco reached a delicate hand out to claim his mimosa. Wisely—in Hermione’s opinion—he kept any comments about the mug to himself. “You’re a dear.”

“That’s right I am,” Hermione said grimly, leaving the bathroom. Her honeybush tea was calling her. She and Draco often drank wine together, but he didn’t know about her secret stash of rum hidden behind the cheapest, most repugnant bottle of White Zinfandel that they had somehow—and to be quite frank, Hermione didn’t quite know how—accumulated. Unscrewing the bottle, Hermione took a swig before pouring a little bit of rum into her tea to take the edge off of this long day (it was only half-noon). For good measure, before putting the bottle away she took another sip. Hermione had promised herself that Ron, even with the utter  _ arse _ hole that he was, wouldn’t drive her to drink, but just look at her now. Taking a deep breath, she delicately picked up her cup. It was warranted, with him coming out here and all; because of the stressfulness of the situation. And with that thought in mind, she forgave herself. 

The couch was warm, soft, and welcomed Hermione with open arms. Before she knew it, sleep came calling, and she found herself drifting into blissful nothingness. It was a good fifteen minutes before she opened her eyes again, startled out of her slumber. The first thing she registered, heart pounding, was that the shower was still running. There didn’t seem to be any visitors, and she hadn’t heard the doorbell. Slightly more relaxed, Hermione settled back into the sofa, cozying back up under one of Draco’s more lavishly crocheted afghans. Damn if her tea wasn’t already cold. But lukewarm tea was still good, especially with rum. So were the stale biscuits that Draco had set out earlier that morning and already forgotten about. Before she knew it, Hermione’s cup was empty and she was feeling more than a little comfortable. 

Her head wasn’t spinning. That was a trick of Hermione’s imagination, one caused by too little sleep and too much time spent inhaling Lysol. Groaning, she wrenched herself off of the couch and went to make a ham sandwich. But just as she went to take a bite, the doorbell rang, causing her hand to spasm open, sandwich hitting the floor with a soft  _ plop _ .

Still dizzy, still trembling with nerves, Hermione went to answer the door. She told herself that there was no need to look through the peephole, because she already knew who was there, and with that thought in mind, she pasted a smile on her face and wrenched open the door.

Harry’s tanned, surprised face was the first thing she saw. “Hello, Harry,” Hermione said, confused. Her brain wasn’t firing quickly enough. She tried to look around for Ron without being obvious about it. 

“Hello, ‘Mione. Ron’s not here yet,” Harry smiled, picking up on Hermione’s anxiety. “He wanted to let Draco adjust a little bit before coming over.”

“That seems oddly thoughtful and nice of him,” Hermione said.

Harry smirked. “Well, what he  _ actually  _ said was ‘why don’t you go on over first, mate, so you calm Malfoy’s arse down before I have to go apologize to his ferret face’.”

In spite of herself, Hermione couldn’t help smiling. “That sounds  _ so  _ like Ron.” She rolled her eyes.

“Where’s Draco?” Harry asked, and Hermione could see the hopeful light within him, the same one that had been burning in Draco for so long. 

“He’s in the shower. I’d say he’ll be done soon, but we both know that’d be a lie. I think he’s become even more of a princess while we’ve been away from London, honestly.”

Harry smiled as if her little anecdote meant the world to him. “I’m not surprised. Come here already, ‘Mione, I want to hug you.” Hermione stepped forward, grinning back at Harry, and they embraced warmly in the soft afternoon air. 

“I’ve missed you,” Harry said, his voice muffled by her bushy hair. “It hasn’t been the same without you, even with Ron around.”

“I imagine it wouldn’t be.” Hermione pulled away and looked at Harry with a twinkle in her eye. “Have you missed having intellectual conversations?”

“‘Mione,” Harry protested, laughing in spite of himself, “Ron’s not  _ that  _ bad, come on, ‘Mione, you know he’s not that bad. In fact, I think he’s gotten better, actually.”

“That remains to be seen,” said Hermione. She stumbled a bit when Harry released her and went to close the door, catching herself on the hatstand. 

Harry quietly observed her, shaking his head. “You didn’t,” he said. “You didn’t drink rum again before lunch on an empty stomach.” Back at Hogwarts, there were one or two occasions when Hermione had done this, before she knew how to mitigate the effect of alcohol. It hadn’t happened since then, not the least because she and Draco drank wine often and her body had adjusted to being poisoned. 

“I didn’t,” Hermione confirmed.

“You did.”

“Alright, fine, I did! I forgot to eat because Draco and I had been cleaning all morning. But it was only because Ron’s coming. And you very well know how I feel where  _ he’s  _ concerned.” As Harry opened his mouth, presumably to defend Ron, Hermione pointed an accusing finger at him. “Actually, I have some things to say to you, too, Harry James Potter; don’t think I forgot about how you threatened Draco the last time I saw you.”

Harry held his hands out in surrender, and then reached out to gently take Hermione’s arm. “Me and Ron both have a lot to answer for, we get it,” he said quietly. “But we’re here to try and make things right. Both of us. But before we do that, you need some food.” 

Hermione nodded, and dropped the matter for the time being. Still arm in arm with Harry, she led the way to the kitchen. As they walked, Harry looked around appreciatively. “Nice place you’ve got here,” he said approvingly. “I see Draco’s touch everywhere…” his gaze lingered on the Draco’s prized afghan, the rich maroon and silver one draped over the couch. “It’s beautiful.”

The kitchen was spotless, save for the ham and bread in the middle of the floor. “I’ll get that,” Harry said, reaching for his wand.

“No!” Hermione cried, lowering Harry’s hand. “We don’t do magic here.” It was a curious thing, the way the flat interacted with their magical cores. Hermione and Draco had quickly learned that, if they didn’t want their house interfering with their physical, mental, and magical wellbeing, it was in their best interest to do things by hand and save the magic for when they were out. Between the two of them, Hermione and Draco hadn’t yet unpuzzled the mystery of why the house could tap into their cores, but since it wasn’t a malicious touch and because they were occupied with other things, they decided to drop the matter for the time being. Besides, it wasn’t exactly unheard of, houses tapping into magical cores, at least not from what Hermione had read in her Magical Theory class.

“Alright,” said Harry, confused. “I’ll just get that, then.” He bent down and scooped the food off of the floor, neatly depositing it into the trash. “Sit down, I’ll make more.” 

Hermione sat in her own kitchen and watched as her best friend prepared two ham sandwiches, cutting some of the fresh apples in the fruit bowl for a healthy side. “You never used to eat apples,” she remarked.

“Well…” and to her surprise, Harry hesitated a little. “I’ve had to start watching my weight. Happy hour on Friday, pizza on Saturday, brunch on Sunday; it all adds up.”

“We’ve been eating a lot healthier too here,” Hermione said. “The French, they’re used to buying fresh produce and bread every day and Draco and I have gotten into the habit of that too. So we usually only have on hand what we’re going to eat for lunch or dinner.”

Harry sat down beside her at the table, setting down their plates of sandwiches and apple slices. “But you still get to have some kind of pastry for breakfast, right?”

“That’s right. Fresh croissants are my favorite,” Hermione answered. “Draco’s already planning to take you to all of his favorite  _ pâtisseries _ .” At Harry’s excited, yet slightly worried look, she laughed. “Don’t worry, you’ll burn it off. As you can imagine, we have a very detailed itinerary this week.”

“Knowing Draco, I’m sure we do,” Harry murmured. A soft, wistful expression crossed over his face. Not wanting to interrupt fond memories, Hermione fussed with her water glass until Harry shook himself out of whatever memory he’d been floating in and the two of them dug in together. 

Before long, they’d finished their sandwiches and were happily catching up over more honeybush tea, this time without the rum. Hermione had recovered and felt much better, though the nerves in her stomach that came from having to see Ron were still acting up. She laughed until she cried when Harry told a funny story about a suspect who incriminated himself with his underwear, of all things, and happily provided an overview of all her classes at Alchahest when Harry inquired as to how her studies were going. Harry was just about to show Hermione an American version of Exploding Snap when there was the sound of the bedroom door opening and footsteps coming down the hallway.

“You know, Hermione, I can still smell the mold under the sink,” Draco’s voice echoed down the hallway. “The next time that we go to the store, I think we should pick up something stronger. The Lysol just doesn’t seem to cut it—” he walked into the kitchen and stopped short when he saw Harry there, fear, joy, and nervousness passing over his visage at once. “Harry?”

From two feet away, Hermione could feel Harry’s emotions mirroring Draco’s. But before she could do or say anything, the doorbell rang, and Hermione’s stomach dropped with the prospect of finally facing Ron. 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think of Hermione's perspective? Initially, it was so hard for me to write from her point of view (that's part of what took me so long to get into a groove with this chapter) but I'm happy with how it came out! Would you like to see the story told from her perspective again?
> 
> Leave me a comment and/or a kudos if you're excited to see this story updated! :)


	19. Jubilation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Ron arrive in France.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, friends! Well, I certainly seem to be keeping with the updated-once-every-three-months schedule, don't I? I'm going to do my best to not let that happen anymore. I'm determined to finish this story, not just for all you lovely readers out there, but for myself. 
> 
> I think you'll all enjoy this chapter! I loved writing it and am super happy with how the final product came out. Please let me know what you thought in a comment down below!

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“Draco,” Harry breathed, breath catching in his throat as he looked at his former partner. The moment seemed to last forever as he drank in the sight of Draco, who was equally fixated on him. Eye contact, normally no longer an issue for Harry, was tempered by the electricity between them. Finally, Harry had to look away from Draco’s piercing stare. Instead, he focused on the other parts of Draco, the softer, more welcoming parts.

“I’ll just run and get the door,” Hermione said, scuttering off. Harry barely heard her. He was too captivated by the man standing before him.

Harry kept pictures of them as a couple on his bedside table and in his wallet, referencing them daily, but even the motion of Wizarding photos didn’t do his ex any justice. Draco was more beautiful than Harry had both remembered and imagined. Of all Draco’s features, Harry’s favorite was Draco’s pointed nose, and that was the first place he looked. It gave him shivers down his spine, the way Draco appeared to have been carefully carved by the gods. The rest of Draco’s face equally captivated him, though Harry thought he could detect soft worry lines and longed to smooth them away.  Though Draco was as lean as ever, he still looked huggable. Harry knew firsthand just how soft he could be; the happiest he’d ever been was when he was with a clingy Draco who demanded cuddles and kisses (and always got them).

Besides his initial breathlessness and the butterflies that fluttered around in his belly with the realization that he was here, in France, with Draco, Harry determined that Draco looked healthy, despite the mental health issues Harry knew he struggled with. He was glad. Draco’s happiness was all he’d ever wanted, and if he couldn’t provide that, then Harry was happy Hermione, Alchahest, and Marseille could. But that didn’t mean he didn’t want to be a part of Draco’s life—and a meaningful one, at that.

Draco was anxiously running his hands through his hair, twitching just the slightest little bit. Harry came to the unpleasant realization that Draco’s anxiety must have worsened since he left London. “You’re here already,” he said, trembling more noticeably now.

“You can finish getting ready,” Harry said, settling back down into his chair. From the living room, there came the sounds of shouting followed by some muted sniffles. “Er, I’m just going to put on some more tea. Black, yeah?”

“British blend,” Draco clarified. Harry figured there had to be a whole stash of black tea in the cupboard, knowing Draco. “And don’t you dare put it in the other Gryffindor mug!” He turned around and swept out of the room, graceful as ever in his retreat.

Harry allowed himself the privilege of watching Draco leave the room and then stood up, shaking his head. He remembered the exact Gryffindor mugs Draco was talking about. Ron had given him the set as a gift and was later devastated when Harry accidentally cracked one of them. “Mate, those set me back 30 Galleons!” He tried to fix it, but the spell had never been able to restore the mug back to its former glory and so Hermione determined that they should leave it alone as to preserve the mug’s character. As the years went on, the set had gotten shoved to the back of the cupboard in Grimmauld Place. Harry wondered just when they had been rescued, as well as how they’d gotten all the way to France…

While trying not to listen to Ron’s muffled apologies and Hermione’s tearful accusations, Harry went to put on the tea kettle, admiring Draco’s accompanying tea cozy and coasters. He took a hard look at himself in the shining metallic gray stove, wishing that he could be upfront with Draco. But it was too soon. They both needed for this trip to go well, what with how things between them had been left the last time. Once their bond had been re-established, then Harry could finally be honest. But, in the meantime, every second he spent in Draco’s presence with the secret between them was killing him. With a sigh, Harry reached up to the cupboard and started sorting through the teas, looking for Draco’s British blend. He’d work to change what he could, and accept what he could not. Merlin only hope that Draco could do the same.

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Ron’s freckles really stood out in the sun. Hermione had never really noticed how vibrant they were, not before she’d left London.

“Good morning,” she said, at a loss for what to say. They made quite the pair with Ron standing on the doorstep, hand shoved awkwardly through the back of his hair and his elbow turned up, sheepishly slouching, while Hermione remained inside the house, slippers firmly behind the door sill, trying not to wring her hands in the way Draco sometimes did when he was uncomfortable.

“Er, it’s not really morning anymore, is it?” Ron said, meeting her eyes for the first time.

Hermione did her best to keep the crossness out of her tone. He just _had_ to be contrary. “I suppose not.”

“Would it be okay if I came in, then?”

“I don’t know, are you ready to apologize for being an intolerable, insufferable _arse_ hole?” She didn’t know where it came from, that venom. Being out here in France with Draco was healing, and Hermione had worked hard to try and overcome the pain of their breakup. Apparently some hurts could quickly come back up to the surface, especially when the main cause of them was standing right there on her front porch.

Ron winced, and Hermione snorted. “Really, after all this time, you’re going to act like you did nothing wrong, like the way you treated Harry was perfectly justif—”

“‘Mione,” Ron said placatingly, putting his hands out in front of him. “Just listen—”

“Why should I listen?” shouted Hermione. The rage bubble inside her was finally at the breaking point, long after Draco predicted it would rise to the surface. “When did _you_ ever listen? Not once! Not when I tried to tell you that my needs were going ignored! Not when I tried to stress to you that I needed more out of our relationship than just a good fuck every now and again!” She paused to draw breath, to try and make a futile attempt to calm down, lest the rage burn her from the inside out. “Not when I told you that I felt like you were falling out of love with me! Nope, not even then!”

All of a sudden, it seemed like the air flow was cut off from Hermione’s lungs. The life seemed to go out of her as she acknowledged their unpleasant former reality. “Not even then,” she repeated sadly. “And I loved you, I really did.”

They stood there on the doorstep silently, Ron on the stoop, Hermione behind the sill. As the birds tweeted in the afternoon sun, a cool wind setting through the trees, heaviness bore over the two of them. There was near-quiet from inside the house, marred only by the whirring of Draco’s hair dryer.

“If I apologized,” Ron said, “Would you even be able to forgive me?”

“You won’t know unless you try,” Hermione said, straightening her spine. There was another moment of silence as they studied each other. “Would you even mean it?”

“I would,” Ron said. “I’ve regretted a lot of things, but nothing more than leaving you. My life just hasn’t been the same without you.”

The _well, that’s your fault_ , went unsaid between them.

Ron reached out and softly touched Hermione’s cold hand. “I’m sorry,” he said, “For not listening to you. For being a wanker every time you wanted to go out and do something instead of staying in. For giving you shit when you wanted to take Harry’s relationship with Malfoy seriously, when you wanted to support him because he was our best friend. For for putting so much emphasis on sex when you—when _we_ —clearly needed more. I’m sorry that I didn’t chase after you, that I didn’t try harder to get you back after we broke up.”

“Try at all, you mean,” Hermione corrected.

“Right, try at all. I got really caught up in being right. Not one of my better moments, but, well—”

“I forgive you,” Hermione surprised herself as those words left her mouth. She hadn’t expected to tell Ron that she forgave him, much less actually mean it. But, somehow, having her feelings recognized meant a lot, as did the apology.

“Thanks,” Ron mumbled. She could still make out the faint red in his cheeks that happened every time he was embarrassed, though she was probably still pretty pink herself. The wind wasn’t helping matters.

“Want to come in?” Hermione said finally, once it became apparent that Ron was at a loss for words.

“Wait,” he said, face twisting up. “I promised myself that, should I ever come out here and talk to you, that I wouldn’t just apologize. I’d try to fix things, to make them right. To make it like it used to be again, but better this time. I’d try to get you back.”

Well, _that_ was unexpected. Good thing Draco had actually forced her to consider Ron actually pulling something like this. When she’d initially refused to consider it, he threatened to make her roleplay potential dialogues with Ron between the two of them. Within thirty seconds, Hermione was exploring all the different possibilities she could possibly think of, with help from Draco.

“Ron,” Hermione said, “As much as I appreciate your apology, that chapter of our lives is over. I can’t see us being in a romantic relationship again.”

“Sorry,” he muttered, “But I figured I’d bring it up, at least—”

“That doesn’t mean that we can’t be friends, though,” Hermione said. “I do miss having you as a friend. I think we were better that way, honestly.”

“If that’s what you want—”

“That’s what I want.”

“Then we’re friends again.”

“Good. Now come here and give me a hug.” Ron stepped off of the doorstep and onto the freshly cleaned linoleum floor, sweeping Hermione up in his arms. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered in her ear, squeezing her tightly. Though his voice and warm nearness caused shivers to go down her spine, Hermione refrained from kissing Ron as she whispered back, “I missed you too.”

The moment just wouldn’t seem to end, so she asked, “Are you hungry? Harry and I made some sandwiches earlier if you want some.” That seemed to be the magic word. Ron released Hermione and followed her inside the house, relief evident in his face. While she couldn’t say that she was _happy_ exactly with the way things had turned out, it was true that a weight had been lifted off of Hermione’s shoulders too as she led the way to the heated, sunny kitchen.

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Harry poured hot water into the teapot, adding in two tea bags as to make the tea extra strong, just how Draco liked it. He turned around, teapot in hand, with the intention of carrying it out to the kitchen table, but instead, he almost bumped into Draco. The slight shock sent the hot water roiling around in the teapot, almost coming out of the spout.

Draco said softly, “You haven’t changed a bit, have you?”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked.

“You still do everything in that same, exacting manner.”

“Well, er…is that a good thing?”

“Hmm,” said Draco, taking the teapot out of Harry’s hands. “Sit down. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

“But do we really?” Harry asked, letting Draco lead the way to the table. “I mean, we’ve been writing letters back and forth, really detailed letters, so--”

“Letters are never a substitute for the real thing.” It was said with such firmness that Harry had no choice but to believe that Draco had, in fact, actually missed him too.

“Okay, then, tell me about your week.” Harry sat down, crossing his legs to settle in. With a smile on his face, Draco started talking about how the semester had ended, about his one seminar paper on how one overlooked aspect of Memory Potionry might be revised and further explored with the possibility of restoring long-term memory damage. Not only had he gotten top marks on it with the suggestion to publish, the professor went out of her way to tell Draco that he should base his culminating Mastery project around experimenting with the theories and techniques he outlined in the paper with the goal of actually forming a potion that could restore memory damage. It was a lofty goal, but Draco was emboldened by the challenge, eyes shining as he detailed the several different ways it might be possible to come up with such a solution. If anyone could do it, Harry though, it would definitely be Draco.

Once Draco wound down, they paused to pour the hot, freshly brewed tea, Draco taking his time adding the perfect amount of milk to his cup, Harry spending too much time watching him but not regretting it for a second.

Harry took his turn at walking Draco through his experiences with not only Junior Auror life, of which he had an endless amount of stories (he relayed the one about underwear that he’d already told Hermione earlier that day with great success), but also the cultural differences that inevitably came as a result of working with Americans.

He was halfway through a story involving an awkward mix-up at an American restaurant (“Our waitress was deaf, and when I said I’d like the bangers, please, she said the only gangsters she knew of were out in the alley next door!”) when they heard the front door shut, followed by footsteps making their way toward the kitchen. Hermione and Ron appeared a few seconds later, Ron with a goofy grin on his face and Hermione with an expression of near contentedness.

“Cheers, mate,” Ron said, nodding at Harry. “Malfoy,” he said, much more subdued. “I owe you an apology. Several, in fact. If you’ll hear them.”

“Weasley,” Draco said, matching Ron’s tone. Harry could see the struggle it was taking for him to not openly antagonize Ron. He seemed to have made peace with the other Weasleys, but somehow Harry knew that he and Ron would never turn out to be the best of mates. To say the least. “You may proceed.”

Ron sighed, as if he wanted to get this over with quickly. “I’m sorry for accusing you of being Harry’s sex toy.”

“On multiple occasions,” Draco added. “And not in nearly such pleasant terms.”

“I’m sorry for accusing you, on multiple occasions, of just being Harry’s hole to fuck,” said Ron, grimacing. “And for calling you a scumbag and trying to get you thrown out of my family’s house. And for always bringing up that you were a Death Eater.”

There was a moment of silence. “And?” Draco asked, finally.

“And for judging you for who you used to be while you were at school,” Ron said, looking quite grumpy now.

“For my part, Weasley, I apologize for calling your family blood traitors and for making your life hell in our first seven years at Hogwarts.”

“I accept your apology, Malfoy,” Ron said. Hermione kicked him. He sighed again. “I’m also sorry for how I acted at Hogwarts and for insulting your mother.”

Draco’s body was stiff and straight, though he didn’t seem to be suffering from any anxiety now. Instead, he was in full Slytherin mode, as cold and calculating as Harry had ever remembered him being back at Hogwarts. “I accept your apologies as well, Weasley, though I’ll have you know that I will never like you. For Harry’s and Hermione’s sakes, I will be civil to you, but that’s as far as my tolerance goes.”

“Likewise, Malfoy,” Ron retorted.

Before they could exchanged more harsh words, Hermione jumped in. “Time for sandwiches,” she said firmly. “Is there any extra water in the kettle, Harry? Our bones are cold.”

“No, sorry,” Harry said. “I’ll just heat some more up.” As he got up to refill the kettle, Draco followed him.

“How about a nice walk around the neighborhood while we let these two catch up?” Drago suggested.

“Alright,” said Harry. “I don’t have a jacket, though. Do you happen to have an extra?”

“Of course,” Draco said. He went to his and Hermione’s shared room and retrieved his own coat, a British-style double breasted button down in wool, and then the coat Harry always borrowed (stole) from him, brown, rugged, and woodsy. Harry’d missed it, and he said as much when Draco handed it over.

“Yes, yes,” Draco said impatiently, buttoning his own coat with gloved hands. “Are you ready to go now?”

“Yup,” said Harry. He reached into the pockets and found that the gloves he’d put there over a year ago were in fact still there. As they walked out the door and down to the sidewalk, he slid them on, feeling like he was home for the first time in nearly a year.

“Grab on, Potter.” Draco had stopped walking and was holding his arm out, gesturing for Harry to grab on.

“Er, weren’t we going for a walk?”

“Yes, Potter,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. “We’re going for a walk. Now get over here and grab on.”

Unable to suppress a grin, Harry took a step forward and intertwined his arm with Draco’s. This felt just like it had in the beginning, when Draco wanted to show him around England. “Let’s go,” he said, ready for whatever it was that Draco was leading him to.

Draco Disapparated them then, and Harry felt a tinge of excitement in his stomach as they went through the usual (horrible) process of Apparation. The landing made him dizzy, but Draco’s strong, lean presence next to Harry was more than enough to steady him.

“Where are we?” he asked wonderingly, looking around at his surroundings. There was a magnificent little gray castle with spires and circular towers that Harry couldn’t stop staring at, lying at the base of a beautiful forest and surrounded by rows of stubby little bushes.

“Vaucluse,” Draco said, by way of answer. “Come on, Potter.”

“Keep your pants on, Malfoy.” They walked towards the castle, through scrubby grass in between the rows and rows of rows of stubby bushes, Draco pulling Harry along.

“Have you figured out where we are yet?”

Harry looked around again. At least, he did the best he could with the pace Draco was pulling him along at. “Er,” he said intelligently. But then something stood out to him. Those rows looked familiar, though Harry had never been here before. Suddenly he started sniffing the air around him.

“It’s winter, you’re not going to smell them,” Draco said, and Harry could hear a tinge of regret in his voice.

“The lavender, you mean?”

“Yes. It’s absolutely gorgeous out here when they’re blooming.”

“I can’t imagine any lavender more beautiful than the blooms in your backyard.” Harry hadn’t meant to say it, it had just slipped out, but somehow, that was what he was meant to say in this moment. Draco spun around and fixed him with a piercing stare.

“Is that so?”

“It is,” said Harry, and kissed him.

To feel Draco’s mouth on his again was incredible, and indescribable. He briefly flashed back to that feeling of coming home, and recalibrated. _This_ was home. Draco’s arms. Draco’s mouth. Draco’s body. Draco slid his arms around Harry’s back, deepening the kiss, and they stood there together, in the middle of the cold, barren lavender field, in front of the castle, kissing each other as do two lovers who have spent a very long time apart.  

When they finally broke apart, Harry snuggled closer to Draco (for warmth). “This was never supposed to happen,” he murmured into Draco’s soft, blonde hair. “We were supposed to be friends.”

“We are friends,” Draco said, kissing Harry on the cheek. “But I still love you, so I’m glad this happened.”

“I love you too,” Harry said. “And I’m sure you planned it to happen this way, right, Draco?” he added teasingly.

Draco broke out of the embrace and smacked him in the arm. “I’ll have you know, Potter, that I simply was taking you on a tour of France, fulfilling my promise of helping you become less of an uncultured swine. This was a destination that I thought you would particularly enjoy based on your love of castles and architecture.”

“Right,” said Harry, not believing a single word. “Come here, you.” And he pulled Draco to him again. “Give me another kiss.” But this time, Harry pulled off his glasses and leaned in with his eyes. As Draco realized what Harry was doing, his face broke out into a beautiful, beaming smile, and he leaned in too, joining their eyes together for a soft butterfly kiss.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What could Harry's secret possibly be? Any guesses? I'm curious to know what you all think :) 
> 
> This will probably be the last chapter that includes Hermione's POV, unless it is heavily requested. 
> 
> For more information about lavender in Provence, click [here](https://www.provenceguide.co.uk/explore/lavender-38-1.html). The image that I referenced when describing where Harry and Draco were can be seen on this page as well. It's the one with the castle :P  
>  
> 
> Thanks again for reading! Have a great day and know that y'all are definitely appreciated.


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